


Dear Mr Fitz

by aqueenofokay



Category: The Misfits (Podcast), gbg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-08-06 19:50:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 59,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16394027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aqueenofokay/pseuds/aqueenofokay
Summary: It's 1926. By day Cameron is a young man fresh out of university with a journalism degree. He is a nobody. By night, Cameron is Mr.Fitz, a private investigator and journalist who the people of New York send their mysteries and scandals to and he solves them, reporting on it in the city’s most popular newspaper column ‘Dear Mr.Fitz’. His double life has been easy. No one knows that he is the one who has ruined several marriages and solved many a crime, pissing off several in the upper class and the police. However, all of that changes when he receives a strange letter addressed to Mr Fitz. Everything he knows, the life he has built, his secret identity, is all thrown upside down.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited about this story! I got the idea for a prompt for my horror-a-day challenge that I have been doing on tumblr! This fic is going to be so much fun and I'm so excited to share it with you! Once the challenge is done this month, I'll be continuing with this story! Everyone has such unique and interesting roles and it's so much fun to write!

_ “New York City, 1926. What a year it was. What a city it was. Home to thousands upon thousands. Home to murder, scandal and whatever else horrible people get up to. I’ve seen it all. I’ve solved it all. Life was never this exciting back home in Auckland. No...In New York, Life and Death partied under the stars and drink champagne among the rich and the poor. In New York,  I am no one and someone. In New York, I was immeasurably lonely and surrounded by people who all wanted to know me, who all wanted to love me. In New York, I was Cameron and Mr Fitz...”  _

 

Morning light spilt through the tall windows. The sounds of the city, cars, voices, and music, floated up to the large tenth-floor apartment. The old wood floor was covered with a large, expensive rug, it's extravagant pattern swirling through the thread. The desk by the tall window was ageing, it’s top covered with letters and papers. Pinned to the wall above it were newspapers clippings, all of the same column from the same newspaper. An expensive tuxedo coat hung from the chandelier in the living room. The door to the bedroom stood open, a trail of clothes leading to the bed. 

A strand of expensive pearls wrapped around one of the bed frame’s poles. 

The blankets were a mess, a stocking dangled from between the sheets. A bow tie hung limply off the headboard.

Warm sunlight spilt across the bed, dotting kisses onto the face of a young man who lay asleep among the mess of blankets, faint smears of red lipstick staining his lips and neck. A halo of golden curls framed his soft face. 

The bathroom door opened, a young blonde woman wrapped in a towel stepping out. Her short hair curled around her ears, her lips painted red. She glanced at the sleeping man with a smile as she picked up her glittering dress that had been tossed to the floor the night before. 

“Are you still asleep? Or just fakin it?” She asked loudly. A small groan escaped his lips. 

“I thought you were just going to sneak out with me knowing...That’s what you said you would do last night.” He sighed. 

“I changed my mind...I want you to know I'm going to be leaving soon,” She pulled on her dress, the sparkles shimmering in the light. She yanked her stocking out from under the blankets. “I like you.” 

“Mhmm…” He hummed, keeping his eyes closed. He wasn't ready to let go of sleep yet. 

“Don't you like me too? You seemed like you did last night,” She sat down beside him, pulling on her stockings. He slowly rolled onto his back, his bright eyes flickering open. She smiled at him. “Perhaps we could see each other again,” 

“Perhaps,” he repeated. She leaned close to him, the sequins on her dress pressing into his bare chest. She traced his collarbone as she looked up at him through her lashes. 

“You know...I’ve never been with a New Zealander before...I was expecting-“ 

“Don’t…” he sighed, turning his gaze to the blanket. He plucked awkwardly at a loose thread. She stared at him for a moment longer before getting up quickly, pulling on her golden heels. She glanced at the long string of pearls wrapping around one of the poles of the four poster bed, wondering who they belonged to. She tightened the straps of her shoes and got up. He laid back on the soft pillows, staring up at the ceiling. Her footsteps faded into the living room. 

“Are all of these clippings yours, Cameron, or...?” Her voice floated back into the bedroom. He sat up quickly. He threw the blankets off, rushing to pull on his trousers. 

“T-Those are my...my roommate’s,” he called out, buttoning up his trousers. He quickly stepped into the living room, watching her eyes scan over the clippings. 

“He must like Mr Fitz then…” She glanced back at him with a smile. “I personally think Mr Fitz is slimy, getting into other people’s business like that...Did you see his column last week? That couple is going to divorce now!" 

“Well, the husband is an ass...He had been cheating on his wife of five years. I'd want a divorce too if I were her,” Cameron said from where he leaned against the door frame, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think Mr Fitz was right to publish it.” 

“Or what about all those crimes he claims to have solved? Isn’t that the police’s job?” 

“They aren’t doing it well in my opinion,” Cameron rolled his eyes. She glanced back at him knowingly. Her red lips stretched into a smile. “I think Mr Fitz is a fine fellow…” 

“I thought you said these were your roommate’s?” She teased. 

“T-They are..” 

“Do you think Mr Fitz would ever write something about me?” She asked, taking a few steps towards him. She looked up at him through her long lashes. 

“Only if you do something bad...Something scandalous…” Cameron said, a sly smile pulling at his lips. She looked him over, satisfied with that answer. She turned, walking towards the door. Cameron followed her to the door, opening it for her. “I’ll see you around?”

“Perhaps…” She smiled. “Goodbye, Mr Fitz.” She blew him a kiss. Cameron waited till she reached the stairs before quickly closing the door and locking it. He leaned his back against the door, letting out a sigh. He had to stop with the roommate excuse, it never worked. He glanced up at his tuxedo coat hanging from the crystal chandelier. Cameron pushed himself off the door, walking towards the chandelier. 

With gritted teeth, he pulled his coat off its crystal hook. 

 

_ Mr Fitz… Mr Fitz, what to do with you? You’re a homewrecker, heartbreaker, amateur investigator, a slimy fraud. I suppose it's true, that I was all of those things and more. However, I only did what people asked of me. You see, I graduated from school top of my class with an English degree and was well known for my writing abilities. However, I didn’t want to be a writer, stuck at a desk all day. I wanted to be a journalist. So when I got my job at the New Yorker, I was over the moon. I wrote a few simple news pieces at first but I wanted to do more. I wanted to be in the city, in its depths, among its people. So I went to my editor with my new idea, Mr Fitz.  I told him that I would accept letters from people. They’d send me their problems, their scandals and I would solve them or rather, Mr Fitz would solve them. My editor told me to do two and see how well received it was. Mr Fitz’s column went on to be the most popular column in the paper’s history. I got hundreds of letters a week, all of them addressed to Mr Fitz. That name became a legend, something bigger than me.  _

  
  


By the time the sun reached the middle of the bright blue sky, the streets were bustling with people. Automobiles sped haphazardly down the roads. Street vendors sold hot dogs and warm coffee. Ladies gossiped in cafes and men strolled down the sidewalks, hands stuffed into their trouser pockets. The train rattled overhead, the steel girders lining the busy streets. 

Cameron pushed his way through the crowd, his long black coat fluttering around him. His polished shoes glinted in the light. His golden curls were slicked back with grease. He turned onto a busy street, stopping at a hot dog stand. With the warm food in hand, he continued down the street, careful not to get mustard on his suit or anyone he passed. 

“Paper! Get your paper!” 

“Murder in the East End! Read all about it!” Two boys stood on the street corner, piles of newspapers tucked under the arms. One of the boys turned, a smile spreading on his face when he saw Cameron walking towards them. “Cameron!” He said excitedly. 

“Morning Mr Fitz!” The other boy said brightly. 

“Morning Newsies,” Cameron smiled, handing them each a hot dog. “Got anything for me, Mason?” He asked as the younger boy handed him a newspaper in return. 

“Well…” Mason said around a mouthful of bread and meat. “We heard about this body that pulled from the water...A young woman. Nothing to identify her. She was wearing this really old nightgown...kinda like something my grandmother used to wear,” Mason explained. 

“Anything else?” 

“I heard Mr Fitz went home with a lovely lady from a party uptown last night,” the other boy, Jay, said with a smile. 

“I said anything else?” Cameron rolled his eyes. Jay and Mason laughed. 

“Nothing really eye-catching. A lawyer uptown getting divorced, a police raid on a speakeasy, you know. The usual,” Jay shrugged. 

“Right.” Cameron glanced at the busy street. “Thank you, boys. You’re a great help.” Mason smiled brightly. “I gotta get my mail. Want to walk with me?” 

“But we gotta sell these!” Jay sighed. 

“I’ll buy them,” Cameron smiled. 

“What?” 

“Here,” Cameron reached into his coat pockets for his coins. He handed a handful to Jay. 

“Holy shit,” Jay laughed. 

“Come on,” Cameron lead the way down the street, the two newsboys hurrying after him. Mason skipped along beside him, nearly having to run to keep pace with Cameron’s long strides. 

Cameron smiled at him. He remembered first meeting the boy not long after he arrived in New York. He had been sitting on the front step of the first apartment building Cameron lived in, coughing up blood. Cameron remembered dropping his groceries, milk spilling across the front step as he picked up the boy. He carried him several blocks to the closest hospital, practically running the whole way. “You’re gonna be okay,” Cameron told him over and over as he carried him through the busy streets. “You’re gonna be okay.” He discovered not long after that the boy had been sick for months and he finally collapsed, hacking up blood. If it wasn't for Cameron, he'd be dead. Mason’s mother wanted to petition him as a hero but he wouldn't hear it. “I did what anyone would do,” Cameron tried to tell her. She shook her head. 

“Not here in New York,” she sighed. Cameron still did he could, getting Mason his first job as a paperboy and stopping by every Saturday for lunch with his mother. She hung onto every word Cameron said, making sure he was comfortable and serving him his favourite lunch every time he arrived. All the while Mason rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at the older boy. 

“Do you think you’ll get a gangster case this week?” Mason asked excitedly as they walked down the street. 

“Or what about the Rum Runners?” Jay asked.

“I know a runner,” Cameron smiled. 

“You do?” Jay’s eyes widened. 

“I do,” Cameron said as they turned the corner, heading down the quiet street towards a small post office. “What they do is very dangerous. Stay away from them, okay?” Cameron said, glancing down at the boys. 

“Whatever you say, Mr Fitz!” Jay smiled, his polished leather boots clicking on the pavement. Cameron turned his gaze back to the street. He remembered the runner well, remembered how he had shoved him against the wood wall of the small cabin, slivers digging into his palms as a gasp escaped his lips. Cameron pulled his coat collar up higher around his cheeks in an attempt to hide his blush. 

At the end of the street was the small post office. It was quiet, run by an elderly woman who wore her hair like his mother did years ago, her warm wool skirts sweeping the creaking wood floor. The two newspaper boys waited like bodyguards on the front step, mustard staining their chins yellow, as Cameron headed inside, the bell ringing. 

“Dear Mr Fitz,” the older woman said with a smile as he walked in. “How are you?” 

“Fine. Yourself?” 

“Oh I’m alright but it's getting colder and I can feel it in my bones each morning,” she said as she headed into the backroom. Cameron glanced around the old post office, the smell of dust and ink hanging in the air. He heard Mason laugh, his innocent voice carried in through the cold drafts. He turned back to the counter as she returned, a large bundle of letters tied with a black ribbon in her hand. “Hope you get something good this week. Last week’s was boring.”

“Boring?” Cameron’s brow furrowed. 

“I yawned several times.” 

“I thought it was rather exciting. All the uptown parties I went to, all the gossip.” 

“Not my taste.” 

“I see...Well, I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.” Cameron nodded to her before turning on his heel, heading towards the door. 

“Cameron! Mason called me a jackass!” 

“I did not!” 

“Yes, you did!” Jay cried. 

“How old are you two?” Cameron sighed. 

“Seventeen…” 

“That’s what I thought,” Cameron muttered, pulling the ribbon off. He stuffed it into his pocket, the end of the silk hanging out of his pocket. The black ribbon fluttered in the cold breeze. He rifled through the letters, reading the names as he walked slowly back down the street, Mason and Jay flanking him. 

Caught in the crossfire of the two boy’s insults at each other, Cameron kept his eyes on the letters, all of them addressed to Mr Fitz. Only those he trusted fully knew his real name. Some speculated of course but in New York’s ever watching gaze, Cameron was a nobody. 

Cameron idly rifled through the stack. 

He stopped when a letter in a simple white envelope addressed to Mr Fitz in a simple, neat hand appeared on top. He flipped it over. There was no return address. 

“Hold these,” Cameron said, handing the stack of letters to Jay. The two boys stopped, watching the tall boy rip open the envelope. He slipped his fingers inside, pulling out the letter. He unfolded it carefully. 

“What is it?” Mason asked, wide-eyed. 

“Gangsters?”

“Rum Runners?” 

“Murder?” 

Cameron held a finger to his lips, silencing them. 

“I-I’m not sure…” Cameron finally said. “But it’s something big.” 

 

_ I can’t begin to tell you in my own words what that letter said. I knew as soon as I saw the envelope that it was going to be important. However, I had no idea that it’d be this big, this horrifying, this dangerous. This letter would change everything. Here is what it said;  _

 

_ Dear Mr Fitz, _

_ What I am about to tell you is of grave importance. You must be careful. Our world depends on it.  _

_ There is a deadly cult in this city, Mr Fitz. They intend to destroy the world by summoning the devil and his army of demons. They are helping Satan grow stronger by sacrificing humans to him, by spilling blood across his image. They have killed nearly fifty young women. No one seems to care.  _

_ I’ve seen it. I’ve seen their altar and the knife they use. It’s so sharp and cold, so unforgiving. They stuff bloody pomegranate seeds into their dying mouths and chant dark words that have instilled absolute dread in my heart.  _

_ They change location every month, you’ll need to find someone on the inside to stop them.  Go to Madame Simone’s on the night of October 15th. She is holding a seance. She can help you if you let her. I have sent you an invitation with this letter.  _

_ For my own safety, I can’t give you any more information. These people are dangerous, Mr Fitz. Now that you know about their existence, you are no longer safe. You will be hunted down like a deer and slaughtered if you are not careful. I am sorry I can’t protect you more.  _

_ Find them, Mr Fitz. Put a stop to the pain they are inflicting on the world and the evil they wish to unleash.  _

_ Save us.  _

_ I know you can.  _

 

_ With love,  _

_ your admirer.  _

 

_ What does one do when they get a letter like this? I remember standing there on the curb feeling so...lost. I stared at that letter, Mason and Jay demanding to know what it said but I could say nothing. A kind of horror came over me. My heart beat faster than I’ve ever felt it. I felt sick to my stomach. The weight this letter carried me made me feel like I would be pulled down through the earth. I could ignore it, throw it out. It screamed crazy. Or I could go to this Madame Simone’s and listen to her ghostly talk. _

_ I tried to get this letter out of my head. I tried to ignore it. Everyone I talked to in the days leading up to the seance told me to ignore it.   _

_ I should have listened. All the pain this letter caused...It wasn’t worth it. But how could I have known then what was going to happen? Sitting here now, pen in hand as I rely all of the events that have lead me to this moment, I have the privilege and the burden of knowing. I didn’t then.  _

_ I felt like I couldn’t ignore it. There was something so desperate about the letter’s words. They told me that I could save them. I couldn’t let them down.  _

_ Toby told me I wouldn’t be letting anyone down, that the letter was nothing but mad ramblings from an obsessed fan of Mr Fitz and that should have been enough to put me at some ease but still I couldn’t stop thinking about it.  _

_ There was only one way to figure out if this admirer was full of shit or not.  _

 

Dead leaves fell from skeletal branches. Headlights illuminated the dark trees. His head leaning against the window, Cameron watched the dark world fly by as the cab drove further from the city towards the suburb where the rich made their home in sprawling mansions filled with servants and antiques. It was far too much for Cameron’s tastes. He had grown up in a small house, running through tall grass and throwing stones out into the warm Pacific ocean. 

He was used to simplicity. 

His bright eyes glanced down at the invitation in his hands, his black leather gloves tight around his skin. “Madame Simone invites you to glance through the veil into the afterlife on the night of October 15th. Come dressed in your best,” the invitation read.

Dressed in an expensive three-piece suit, his vest made of red velvet with gold thread forming a delicate pattern, Cameron tugged at his stiff collar. He felt like his bowtie would choke him to death. He had been to a seance once, many years ago with his mother. He had stood behind her while she sat at the table, her hands pressed to the table. Cameron couldn’t remember much else except for his blood-curdling scream when the table suddenly shook violently, the psychic staring at him with wide, horrified eyes. She mouthed two words at him as he burst into tears, cold air swirling around him. The seance had ended not long after that, his mother carrying the crying boy from the house. 

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. What would his mother say if she saw him now? He didn’t tell her a lot about his life in New York. As much as he loved her, it was better that way. 

The memory of the seance and the thought of his mother’s disapproval hurt his heart. He fought back the sting of tears in his eyes, swallowing the rock forming in his throat. 

He had to be brave. 

Closing his eyes, he straightened his back, his head leaning against the back of his seat, his right hand curling tightly into a fist. 

Cameron wasn’t good at these things, but Mr Fitz was. 

The golden boy opened his bright eyes as he raised his head. His fist uncurled. 

He could see the mansion through the trees now. Its windows glowed a strange ominous orange. Shadows passed by the curtains. He watched the mansion closely. It looked strange at this time of day and given the situation, he couldn’t help but feel a little disturbed by it but on any other day, he would have just thought it obnoxious like any other mansion. 

The cab pulled up to the front step. He paid the driver and got out, his polished shoes crunching on the gravel. A servant dressed all in black coattails, his white collar shining in the dim light descended the stairs. 

“You’re invitation sir?” The servant asked as the tall young man looked up at the mansion. He idly flashed the servant his invitation. “Right this way.” The servant lead him up the stairs and held open the door for him. The tall young man moved with a sense of confidence that the servant couldn’t help but watch as he stepped inside. 

The front parlour was full of people, all dressed elegantly in expensive clothes and dripping in jewels. A small orchestral band played in the corner. He took a champagne glass off a servant's silver tray and stepped into the parlour. 

Eyes turned to drink him in. 

They scrutinized every inch of him. 

He didn’t shy away from the attention. 

Red candles cast their shadows onto the wall. His footsteps were muffled by an expensive Parisian rug. He took a sip from his drink, the bubbles fizzing on his tongue. The smell of sage oozed through the humid air. 

“You look familiar. Have I meet you before?” He turned, his gaze landing on a young woman who stared up at him, her eyes lined with black charcoal, her lips painted a soft red. In her white-gloved hand was a cigarette holder, her cigarette burning at the end of it. Her short brown hair curled around her face, the pearls on her dress glinting in the light. Her silver shoes sparkled. She smiled up at him. 

“Perhaps...I’m Mr Fitz.” He took her hand, pressing a kiss to the soft satin. “And what may I call you?” 

“Call me Bee,” She smiled. “Do you mean to tell me that you are thee Mr Fitz?” 

“The very one.” 

“I don’t believe you,” she said, taking a drag from her cigarette. 

“I wouldn’t lie about such a thing,” he said. He took a sip from his drink, his gaze scanning the room. She exhaled, smoke floating around her. Her red lips pulled into a smile. 

“What are you doing here, Mr Fitz?” 

“I’m curious.” 

“Are you going to write about it?” 

“Perhaps…” He glanced down at her and winked. She giggled. 

“Well...Make sure to tell everyone how lovely Miss Bee is,” she said, her soft tone floating through the dark air. 

“In return, maybe you could help me figure out who is who here?” 

“Deal.” She wrapped her arm around his, her satin fingers holding tightly onto his arm. “Is this your first time at a seance, Mr Fitz?” 

“No...I went to one when I was a boy.” 

“Did you like it?” Bee asked. 

“Yes,” he lied. 

“Good. You’ll love this. Only the best of New York is invited to these seances. Actresses, politicians, the elite...Whatever you are, Mr Fitz,” she looked up at him through her long lashes. 

“I’ve been called a few names...I won’t tell you them now though, I’d be thrown out of here if I said them out loud,” he laughed. 

“You’re doing the right thing. People need to hear the truth. People need you...People love you.” Bee said softly. He glanced down at her. 

_ With love, your admirer.  _

“May I ask you a question, Miss Bee? It might be a bit...sensitive and I apologize if-” 

“Such a gentleman,” Bee smiled. “I look soft but I’m really not. Go ahead.” He smiled. He liked her. 

“Well...I was wondering if you had heard of a cult? A satanic kind of cult that likes human sacrifice more than animal…” He spoke softly, his eyes watching the red room and the beautiful people that sat on the velvet couches or stood by the bookshelves, gossiping among themselves. 

“A satanic cult?” Bee repeated, her eyes wide. He nodded. “I’ve heard some weird things about a few people now that I think about it...There’s a young gentleman...Tyler or something like that? I heard he collects pig heads in his cellar.” He grimaced. 

“As disturbing as that is...I’m not sure if that fits what I’m looking for.” 

“Hmm…” Bee took another drag of her cigarette. “I heard something else about another man-” 

“Ladies and Gentleman!” A servant suddenly called out. “Madame Simone would like to see you all in the Seance room.” Bee looked up at the tall young man excitedly. 

“I heard that tonight is going to be different,” she said. His brow furrowed. 

“How so?” With Bee’s hand still holding on to his arm tightly, they walked out of the parlour and up the stairs. Quiet murmuring filled the stairwell. 

“Well...Normally one can request to sit at Madame Simone’s table. Tonight, however...She’s personally selecting people to sit with her. No one knows who gets be at the table tonight!” Bee said. This clearly wasn’t her first time here at Madame Simone’s. 

“I see...I didn’t really plan to sit at the table. I’m fine with observing.” He shrugged. 

“I’ve noticed.” She winked at him. He finished his drink. 

They reached the top floor. Red candles illuminated the dark hallway. The guests made their way down the hall to a large room. The windows were blocked out with red curtains. Smoke and sage hung in the air. Red candles burned, their wax dripping like blood to the floor. In the centre of the room was a circular table, six empty chairs around it. In the centre of the table was a plate of pomegranates. In the seventh chair was a young woman, red hair cascading around her shoulders. She was dressed all in black velvet, a veil over her eyes. The guests stood at the edge of the room, a nervous energy coursing through them. 

“Good evening…” Madame Simone said softly, her eyes slowly lifting to look up at them through the veil. “Six souls will sit with me tonight...Six important...beautiful souls who need to listen to what the spirits on the other side have to tell them.” The tall young man glanced down at Bee who smiled up at him. His golden curls glinted in the red candlelight. “You…” Madame Simone pointed a black-gloved finger at a woman on the other side of the room. Her eyes widened. Slowly she stepped towards the table, taking a seat beside the medium. The medium’s eyes scanned over the crowd. She selected carefully, each soul she picked surprised that she would call them forth. 

One chair remained. 

Madame Simone’s finger pointed at the tall boy. 

“You…” She breathed. Bee shook his arm excitedly. 

“N-No thank you, Madame,” he said. Gasps rippled through the room. “I merely wish to watch.” 

“No...You must sit down…” She said sharply. He stared at her. She stared back, her eyes narrowing as she looked him over. “Boy with two names…” 

_ Is that a threat?  _

“Go ahead…” Bee whispered. “It won’t kill you.” She let go of his arm and pushed him forward. He took a deep breath, straightening his fitted red velvet vest. He pulled back the heavy black chair and sat down. Madame Simone smiled at him. 

The memory of his screams rang through his head.

He forced them away, running a hand through his golden curls. Pomegranate juice pooled on the silver plate. 

“Please place your hands on the table,” Madame Simone instructed the six guests seated the table. Slowly, they placed their hands on the cold table, the tips of their pinkies grazing each other. “The spirits need a perfect circle...Please do not break the circle. No matter what happens or what you hear...Please do not break the circle. You won’t be safe from the spirits if you do. All those not sitting at the table, please leave the room for your own safety.” He glanced over his shoulder Bee who smiled at him before turning to leave the room, her dress glittering in the red light. He took a deep breath, turning his gaze back to the medium. 

The door closed.  

He struggled to breathe, his shoulders starting to tense. 

“It’s merely parlour tricks, Cameron...You are okay, my sweet boy,” his mother had said softly in the carriage on the way home, gently rubbing his back as he cried into her skirts. “My sweet boy…” 

“Let us begin. We open ourselves to you, spirits. Speak through us. Tell us what we need to know!” Madame Simone called out into the silent room. The red candles flickered. The tall young man glanced around the dark room. For a moment, the golden-haired man felt like a boy again, his heart racing, his hands pressed hard against the mahogany table top. “Spirits!” Madame Simone called out again. “Speak through us!” Cold air wrapped around the tall boy, as if embracing him. He fought the urge to shiver. 

_ Parlour tricks...Parlour tricks… _

Something dark moved out of the corner of his eye. 

Madame Simone’s head suddenly dropped. 

“M-Madame?” The young woman beside her asked softly. 

“He will be kind…” Madame Simone said quietly. Her voice sounded caught in her throat, the word gargling in her mouth. Her right hand began to rise, her finger pointing at the tall boy seated across the table from her. “He will be kind...He will be your downfall...you’re death...Bloody...Bloody words...Your words will be choked out of you...bloody…” She gasped, her head suddenly lifting sharply. The sound of bone cracking echoed through the room. “Fall!” She suddenly screamed at him. “Fall!” 

Cameron stared at her, tears of fear welling up in his eyes. 

“He is going to fall!” She screamed, her hand tensing tightly as though reaching for Cameron who sat paralyzed in his chair. “He is going to fall!” She wailed. 

The table violently shook, nearly flipping over onto its side. 

Cameron’s childhood screams echoed through his head. 

The tall boy lept to his feet, breaking the circle. 

“Don’t!” Simone cried. “Sit back down!” 

“I can’t...I can’t do this…” Cameron gasped. He turned, sprinting towards the door. He threw it open, running down the dark hallway, past Bee who leaned against the wall, smoking. 

“Mr Fitz!” She called after him. Dark shadows followed him down the stairs. Tears spilt down his cheeks. “Mr Fitz!” 


	2. Chapter 2

_ I was terrified. I was breaking. I couldn’t stop crying. I felt like a boy again. I wanted to see my mother. I ran the whole way to the train station, my legs burning, my heart racing. I remember tripping at one point, crashing hard to the gravel. I laid there on the earth for a few minutes, my tears soaking into the dirt. I felt pathetic. I managed to get up and kept going. My suit was ruined but I didn’t care. I just had to get far away from that house. Real or not, something Madame Simone said struck a chord with me. It wasn’t until I realized that she wasn’t trying to scare me...she was trying to warn me that it was too late to understand why.  _

_ I was a stubborn, arrogant boy.  _

_ I managed to catch the last train back into the city. I slumped down into one of the seats, practically alone save for a couple on the other side of the car. I will admit that on that cold trip back into the city, I cried for my mother. I hid my face in my hands and sobbed. She always took care of me and I thanked her by moving across the world to this godforsaken city and lied to her. I told her I had a steady job. I told her I found a sweet girl and I was gonna marry her. It was all a lie because I knew the truth would kill her.  _

_ Don’t feel bad for me though...I wasn’t completely alone.  _

_ When the train reached the city, I went to the one person who had the power to bring me back down to earth;  the one person I ever truly loved.  _

 

Cameron’s fists beat against the small townhouse’s front door. Tears stained his cheeks. A cold wind danced down the cobblestone street lined with brownstone houses, their tall windows looking back at the tall, shaking boy. 

“P-Please...Please…” Cameron whispered, hitting the door. It suddenly opened, a shorter boy his age looking up at him. His blonde hair was combed back but messy from sleep. His white shirt collar was undone, his suspenders hanging around his waist. He blinked, pushing his glasses up on his nose. 

“C-Cameron? Are you okay?” The shorter boy asked. Cameron shook his head, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. 

“T-Toby…” 

“It’s okay. Come here,” Toby said softly, holding his arms out to him. The taller boy dissolved into his grasp, his arms wrapping tightly around him as he sobbed onto his shoulder. “It’s okay.” A cold wind swept down the street. After a moment, Toby broke away from the hug, his soft gaze taking in Cameron’s dirty suit, the red velvet glinting in the dim light spilling from the warm townhouse. “Come inside...I got you.” Toby held Cameron’s hand tightly as the taller boy stepped inside. 

The old, heavy door closed behind him. 

Gentle, warm air flowed around the shaking boy. The smell of cinnamon and smoke from the fireplace filled the air. Toby’s brownstone was small but perfect. Photos of home hung on the walls; a photo of two boys in their school uniforms standing arm in arm in the centre of it all. The wood floor creaked underfoot. Toby lead Cameron into the parlour, setting him down in a cosy chair by the fire. He drapped a warm blanket over him, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You’re safe now. I’ll bring you some tea.” 

“W-Whiskey…” Cameron stammered. Toby glanced back at him. 

“Whiskey it is,” he said with a smile. Toby left the parlour, his footsteps echoing down the hallway to the kitchen. Cameron stared around the room. The small chandelier above him glinted in the dim firelight. Velvet green chairs and a couch lined with gold faced the fire. Behind him, the heavy curtains were shut. Photos of home rested in frames on the mantle. Cameron glanced up at them. He remembered the warm ocean air and the taste of salt. He managed to take a deep breath, his hands curling tightly around the blanket. On a side table across the room was a radio. It was a large, ungodly thing. He didn’t understand why Toby liked them so much. 

“You can get the same information in a paper,” Cameron had pointed out one lazy afternoon, his right leg stretched out and resting on top of the velvet couch, his shirt unbuttoned. Toby had glanced over his shoulder at him and dramatically rolled his eyes. 

“Think of the future, Cameron,” Toby said. “It’ll be beautiful.” 

The sound of the floor creaking pulled Cameron out of the past. 

He looked up, his bright gaze settling on the large entryway to the parlour. 

The floorboards in the hall creaked again under a heavyweight. 

Cameron’s heartbeat quickened. His grip tightened on the blanket. 

The sound of a strangled gasp echoed through the dark hall. 

He could hear something drip to the floor. 

Something dark inside him told him it was blood. 

“T-Toby?” Cameron called out. 

Another creak, louder and closer this time. 

Another pained gasp rattled through the air.

Something was about to come around the corner. 

Blood dripped to the floor. 

“Toby!” Cameron cried out as something dark wrapped around the doorframe. Toby suddenly walked around the corner, two cups of whiskey in his hands. 

“What is it? Are you okay?” he asked, urgently setting the crystal glasses down on the table and knelt in front of the tall boy, holding his hands tightly. 

“I-I…” Cameron stuttered, his eyes on the dark entryway. 

“You’re okay, you’re safe,” Toby reached up to gently stroke his cheek. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Cameron. Remember? I promised you that. You're safe here...” Toby smiled. Cameron nodded, his hands trembling. He leaned into Toby’s gentle hand. Toby smiled softly. He pulled his hand away after a moment and reached for one the crystal glasses, pressing it into Cameron’s hand. He took a sip, a thin trail amber liquid dripping down his chin. Toby picked up his own glass and sat down across from Cameron. The fire roared. “What happened, my love?” 

“T-The seance…” Cameron said. He took another sip, the strong alcohol burning his throat. 

“With Madame Simone? Cameron, I thought I told you not to go,” Toby sighed. Cameron looked down at the whiskey in his glass. He hated hearing Toby’s disappointment towards him. Nothing broke his heart more. 

“I-I’m sorry...I just...I had to go, Toby. I felt like I had to be there,” Cameron struggled to say. 

“What happened there?” 

“I-I...I don’t quite know to describe it...She spoke to me or maybe something spoke through her, I don’t know. I never believed in this stuff before but maybe...Maybe there is something to it after all...She screamed at me. Like she was threatening me. I don’t understand…” A sob rattled his shoulders. “I’m so scared, Toby. I should have listened to you. I’m so sorry.” 

“You felt it was the right thing to do. Don’t apologize,” Toby said softly. Cameron glanced up at him. The fire crackled between him. Cameron set his glass down on the side table, reaching for Toby. 

He needed to hold him, needed to feel his soft touch, needed to hold him close. 

He needed him. 

Toby set his glass down and got up. He carefully settled himself into Cameron’s lap, his arms gently wrapping around his neck. He buried his face between the tall boy’s neck and shoulder, pressing gentle kisses to his cold skin. Cameron’s arms tightened around him, his eyes closing as Toby trailed kisses up his throat. “I got you…” Toby whispered, pressing a kiss against his ear. “I got you…” 

 

_ I’d be nothing without Toby.  _

_ I’ve known him all my life. He’s my best friend...my love. He keeps me sane with all these scandals and mysteries. If it wasn’t for him, I think I’d have died in New York. Toby was there for me; he stood up for me.  _

_ I remember back home as boys we’d play together. In the summers we’d swim in the ocean and search through tide pools for starfish. In the winters we studied together, built forts out of sheets in my bedroom despite my governess’s warnings to not crease them and pretended to be knights and kings. Toby always wanted to be the knight. He said he wanted to be brave.  _

_ As we got older, I don’t think Toby ever stopped being a knight.  _

_ We were just as inseparable in school as we were as little boys but as we got older, that became a bit more concerning, it became something to gossip about. They weren’t wrong though. Sitting on the floor of my dorm room, Toby was my first kiss and I was his. It was more out of curiosity than anything but I liked it. I liked him.  _

_ Then one day, one of the older boys in my class decided to start taunting me. The things he said made me want nothing more than run away. I couldn’t though. I couldn’t run away, I couldn’t cry because if I did, he won. I shouldn’t have cared. I should have cried anyways. However I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about would happen if he knew, if everyone knew, so I fought it. I fought back but it never seemed to be enough. One day after class they corned me between two of the school buildings. They threw me down onto the pavement and started kicking and hitting me. I don’t remember much else about that afternoon except stumbling back to the dorm, my book bag held tight in my arms and desperate to find Toby. He was furious. I’ve never seen him so angry.  _

_ Then he did something stupid. I think it was and still is the most stupid thing Toby has ever done.  _

_ In the middle of the busy courtyard the next morning in front of everyone, that short sixteen-year-old boy challenged my bully to a duel. I remember grabbing at Toby’s arm, trying to tell him to knock it off, to just leave it all alone but he wasn’t listening. He was determined. For the same reasons that I couldn’t cry, the bully couldn’t say no. So they decided that two days from then, they’d meet on the hill just outside the school and duel. Of course, at this point, dualling had been made illegal but that wasn’t going to stop Toby. Again, I think this was the stupidest thing he’s ever done. I tried to talk him out of it but Toby wouldn’t hear it. The night before the duel, he promised me that he’d always protect me, that he’d always be there for me. Though he didn’t say the actual words, I think that was his way of telling me that he loved me.  _

_ The next day at the decided time, we all gathered on the hill. Two guns were given to the boys. I don't know where they came from. It was cold that day, a strong wind coming off the ocean. I stood by Toby, my heart racing. The rules said that since Toby was the challenger, he could decide who shot first. He let the older boy shoot first. I remember how that boy’s hands trembled. He could barely aim the gun. He fired. Toby staggered. Then it was Toby’s turn. He raised his gun and fired. The boy fell to the ground, the bullet having skimmed his leg. He screamed. He said Toby won.  _

_ When I looked back at Toby, he was starting to fall. He fell back into the grass. He gasped in pain, his hand on the side of his chest where the bullet had skimmed him. Blood splattered the grass. The thing about that hill was that it was covered with small white flowers. And here was Toby, blood covering his side, his chest heaving, his eyes on me, surrounded by those small white flowers. He smiled at me.  _

_ That was the moment that I realized I was in love with Toby.  _

_ I’ve been in love with him ever since.  _

_ There is still a scar on Toby’s side where the bullet struck him. He refers to it as his medal.  _

_ We were left alone for the rest of our time at that school. We were happy but we had to hide it from everyone. Not even in our own homes where we allowed the openness that others had.  _

_ We graduated high school and had the world ahead of us. The war had ended two years before and there was a kind of peace in the world. I was the one who wanted to go to New York. Toby was hesitant at first but I warmed him up to the idea. We both applied to a university in New York and got in. We packed up everything we had and said goodbye to our parents, to our home. We promised to be back one day. We sailed around the world. That was the best few weeks of my life. For just that moment, it felt like we could be public.  _

_ However, when we arrived in New York, that freedom disappeared again. It was and still is painful. One afternoon, Toby arrived at my apartment and told me that he couldn’t do it anymore. He said it hurt his heart to live as though he didn’t love me. I asked him what he wanted to do. He said he didn’t know. We sat at my small kitchen table for hours, mostly in silence, listening to the stern, cold world outside and the seconds tick by on the clock.  _

_ Finally, we decided what to do.  _

_ We would make our relationship an open one. We would still love each other but we were not stuck with each other. If another catches our eye there would be no shame in that. We would not be upset with the other. It was better this way. It hurt us less or rather we thought it would hurt less. It took me a while but I eventually began to sleep with other people, men and women. Nothing more ever came out of those nights. Toby never slept around, at least, that's what I think. He wouldn't have told me anyways if he shared his bed with someone else. A part of me still felt guilty every morning I woke up beside someone who wasn't Toby so I returned to him as often as I could...As horrible as that sounds. I never told him about who I had slept with but I knew he knew.  _

_ He said it was okay. He said he loves me. He said that he doesn’t want me to get hurt so it’s better to be distant like this. He said there is a difference between lust and love.  _

_ I should have argued with him, should have told him that I only ever wanted him. I should have told him to yell at me, to call me every horrible, disgusting name in the book because I deserved it. However, I can’t change the past, no matter how much I want to, knowing what I know now. I cannot comfort my past self nor warn him. I can only recall what happened. I can only learn from my mistakes.  _

 

Warm sunlight spilled through the cracks in the curtains. The bedroom was filled with a soft golden glow. Automobiles passed by the rows of brownstones, their rumbles and grumbles floating in with the cold drafts. On the bedside table, a photo of Cameron stared out at the room, framed with gold. Clothes covered the floor. A red velvet vest hanging haphazardly off the bed frame glinted in the morning light. 

With the blankets pulled to his chin, his golden curls forming a soft halo around his head, Cameron slept deeply. He only stirred when the door opened. Toby carried a tray full of Cameron’s favourite breakfast foods, setting it down on the bed beside him. 

“Good morning,” Toby placed a kiss on Cameron’s cheek as his eyes fluttered open. Cameron rolled on his back, reaching for Toby’s hand. 

“Good morning, my love,” Cameron said. Toby smiled. Cameron sat up, breathing in the mouth watering scent of pancakes and syrup, of bacon and coffee. Toby set the tray over Cameron’s lap before sitting down beside him, resting against the large, elegant headboard. He pulled the newspaper he had held under his arm out and turned it over to Mr Fitz’s column. 

“Scandal in the House; a Husband’s Dirty Affair..” Toby read aloud. “What a title.” 

“I like that one,” Cameron said, cutting into the pancakes. The fluffy cake was drenched with syrup just the way Cameron liked it. 

“I swear to God...you are going to get beat up one of these days,” Toby said, reading over the column. “Please tell me you aren’t taking on the satanist case after what happened last night.” Toby glanced at Cameron who stared down at his dark coffee. “Cameron.” 

“As scared as I was-“ 

“Scared? You were terrified!” Toby cried, throwing the paper down. “Don’t do this, Cam.” 

“I have to. Last night was proof...Proof that something is going on. I don't know how or why...but it is. That letter...I don't it's full of shit. I think I have to answer it's call.” 

“Cameron…” 

“If it's too much...I’ll back out, I promise.” 

_ What a liar I was.  _

Toby narrowed his eyes at him. 

“Don’t do this. Real or not, people like that are dangerous. They are scammers and liars,” Toby said sharply. 

“Which is exactly why I should expose them!” Cameron cried. “I can handle it, Toby!” 

“You’re not Fitz, Cameron! You are a real human being who can really die! You're not the arrow collar man! You aren’t a design. You are real. I can’t…” Toby stopped himself. He stared down at the paper on his lap. 

“Can’t what?” Cameron asked, setting his fork down.

“Lose you…” Toby breathed. Cameron stared at him. He placed his hand on Toby’s cheek, turning his soft face towards him. Cameron kissed him gently, his fingers threading through his hair. Toby tasted maple syrup on his lips. 

“You won’t,” he said as he broke away. Toby nodded meekly. Cameron kissed him again before leaning back against the headboard. He finished his coffee. “I know how to do this.” 

“How?” 

“I need you to help me. I have people all over the city helping me all the time with Mr Fitz. I’ll bring us all together and we’ll take these guys on. Even if we’re outnumbered, we won’t be alone,” Cameron explained. 

“Will this be putting any of us in danger?”

“Save for my two newsboys, aren’t we all used to danger?” Cameron smiled, poking Toby’s side where his scar was. 

“Don’t! It’s sore today!” 

“I wonder why!” Cameron laughed. Toby blushed. “It’ll be okay, Toby. Mr Fitz can handle it.” 

“Mhmm… Can he?” Toby pulled the tray off Cameron, setting it down on the floor before climbing into his lap. Cameron smiled as Toby pressed a kiss to his jaw. “I think Mr Fitz can do anything…” 

 

_ I’m not sure what exactly warmed Toby up to the idea of Mr Fitz. When I first told him about it he said it was stupid and dangerous. Which given what I wanted to write about, that was understandable. I’ve received hate mail and death threats. Sometimes they funny to read. Other times, I’m double checking my front door and windows to make sure they are locked, all my curtains closed.  _

_ Either way, over time he warmed up to Mr Fitz and helped me write the columns. Toby is a student still, working to be a professor. He does research and is able to talk to ‘elite’ academia professionals that I wouldn’t normally be able to. Also, he loves parties and goes with me whenever he can. Toby is one of six people that help me create Mr Fitz.  _

_ Of course, there is Mason and Jay who I have already mentioned. The two boys are excellent at picking up on gossip. They can listen and not be noticed. No one seems to notice the paper boys. _

_ The next member of my little group is a bit rougher. He provides the muscle when I need some.  _

 

Wet leaves fell through the air. Gravel crunched under Cameron's boots as he walked up to the cabin. His long black coat rippled in the cold wind, one of Toby's scarves around his neck. The cabin was nestled in the woods a little way out of the city, quiet and isolated. Cameron had grumbled as he handed the money over to the cab driver and asked him to wait. 

“That’ll cost you extra. On top of the trip back into the city,” the driver said. 

“Fine,” Cameron rolled his eyes, handing over more cash. 

He glanced back over his shoulder at the cab to make sure it was still there. He turned to the door, knocking politely. He never knew what to expect on the other side. 

There was no answer. 

Cameron knocked louder. 

Still nothing. 

Cameron curled his hand into a tight fist and pounded on the door. 

“Give me a fucking minute…” A voice called out from the other side of the door. Cameron smiled. The door suddenly opened, a young man standing in the doorway. He was a few feet shorter than Cameron, his dusty brown hair still cut like a soldier’s. His grey trousers hung loosely around his hips, his pant suspenders hanging around his thighs, his white t-shirt stained with rum. He blinked in surprise when he saw the tall, well-dressed man standing on his front step. 

“M-Mr Fitz...I mean, Cameron. What are you doing here?” The young man stammered. 

“I need your help, Swagger.” 

“My help?” 

“Yes.” 

“I’m busy.” 

“I’m aware.” 

“So why did you come here then if you know I’m busy?” 

“Because you aren’t actually busy. Your next run isn’t until next week.” 

“So? You don’t know I’m not doing other important things.” 

“Can I come in?” Cameron sighed. Swagger looked him over with narrowed eyes before stepping away from the door, letting him. 

“Did you come back for a quickie again?” 

“No.” Cameron’s cheeks flushed red. 

_ Toby really should have left me.  _

“Then what is it?” Swagger slumped down into a wooden chair by the table. The cabin was small, a dirty front room and a ladder up to the loft where the rum runner slept. Cameron hadn’t found that bed to be as comfy as Toby’s. 

“I’ve run into this group-“ 

“Nah. Nuh-uh. No groups. I got enough groups of people on my ass. The mafia, the police, a bunch of old ladies up in Canada yelling about how the devil is tempting my soul with the drink. No groups.” Swagger crossed his arms. Cameron sighed. “Do you want some rum?” 

“Yes. Please,” Cameron said through gritted teeth. Swagger got up from the table, grabbing the bottle off the counter. He filled two cups, setting one down in front of Cameron. Drops if amber liquid oozed down the glass. “Look, unless it calls for violence-“ 

“Which it will.” 

“I just need you to keep your eyes and ears out for me,” Cameron said sharply, ignoring Swagger’s comment. “Can you do that for me? Please?” Cameron batted his eyelashes, knowing it’d get him. “Please?” Swagger threw his hands up and sighed. 

“Alright! Who am I supposed to be looking out for?” Swagger snapped. 

“There is a satanic cult here in New York-“ 

“Fuck’s sake. I take it back.” 

“Nope.” 

“Fuck you, Fitz,” Swagger snapped. Cameron smiled. 

“There is a Satanic cult here in New York. They’ve apparently killed a lot of people, all with a knife. If you hear anything-“ 

“Do they use pomegranates at all?” Swagger’s question caught him off guard. 

They stuff bloody pomegranate seeds into their dying mouths and chant dark words that have instilled absolute dread in my heart...

Cameron shivered at the memory of the letter’s words. 

“A-Apparently. Why?” 

“I saw a body once...In the woods on my run. I had just barely left the city. Her body was at the side of the road. She wore this...white nightgown and she had been stabbed. There were seeds in her mouth...pomegranate seeds... I think,” Swagger explained. 

“How do you know?” 

“I’ve seen a pomegranate before, Cameron.” 

“Okay…” Cameron managed a smile. 

“And what if it comes to violence?” 

“Then I’ll need your gun,” Cameron said calmly. Swagger stared at him. 

“What do I get in return?” Swagger leaned back in his chair, pulling his suspenders. Cameron looked him over. 

“I can pay you.” 

“I don’t want your money,” Swagger bit his lip. Cameron took his shot of rum. 

“I have a cab waiting for me.” 

“Tell it to leave.” 

“I can’t.” 

“Why?”

“I’m busy today.” 

“I’m aware.” 

“So why did you tell me to send the cab away?” Cameron smiled. Swagger stared back at him, blinking in mild annoyance at the use of his own words against him. “I’ll be in touch.” Cameron got up, pulling on his coat. 

“You owe me, Cameron,” Swagger said as Cameron headed towards the door. 

“Thank you for the drink,” Cameron blew him a kiss before stepping outside, the door closing sharply behind him. 

 

_ Swagger is.... an odd individual. He’s very blunt which makes working with him a bit difficult. I also don’t know his real name. He said he got the name ‘Swagger’ in the trenches. I heard that he got it because of the way he’d walk across those wood planks that separated him from the mud, the rats and the dead with a kind of swagger, medals and pins stolen off German coats pinned to his. _

_ He said that name made his job as a rumrunner easier and made working with me easier. No one knew who he was. It also meant that I can’t easily write about him; not that I would have until now. In my eyes, he’s done nothing wrong. He merely supplies people with what they want. Someone else might say something completely different but this is my story to tell and I will tell it how I want to.  _

_ I was going to find the last member of our little group next but I was told he wasn’t in at the museum and was out somewhere in the city. So I will return to him later. _

_ At that point, standing there on the curb out front the archives, I realized there was one other person I could go to, another… unofficial member of the strange group of misfits that I have come to love.  _

 

Trumpets sang a mighty tune. Drums pounded out a beat. Laughter roared. Women were dripping in jewels. Men ordered shot after shot. The speakeasy vibrated, energy coursing through the joint with a momentum that was bound to give Cameron a headache the moment he left. 

Leaning against the bar, his suit fitted to his tall frame, Cameron watched the mob that filled the speakeasy. His eyes searched for a familiar face. He reached for his crystal glass, taking a sip of the strong whiskey. His gaze turned to the band, watching them passionately play. A few people danced wildly in front of them. 

His gaze landed on a table by the corner, a young man in a milk-white suit lounging in the velvet chair. Cameron found himself staring at him, drinking in his dark hair and soft face. The young man looked up, catching the tall boy staring. Cameron quickly looked away, taking a sip of his drink. 

“Dear Mr Fitz…” Cameron turned, his gaze landing on a young woman dressed in a silky pink dress, her brown hair curled in finger waves around her pale face. Her soft, childlike voice floated around him, carrying with it the expensive scent of her perfume. She pushed herself up to sit on on the bar top, making herself only slightly taller than the journalist. She smiled at him, her lips painted a deep red. “I have a scandal to tell you about a young woman who may or may not have just had a very sexy affair with one of New Yorks most prominent heirs to a grand fortune.” 

“Oh...Sounds delicious. Do tell,” Cameron smiled, leaning towards her.

“Well…” she said, her black lined eyes drifting up to the ceiling. “I took him home and fucked him.” She said matter of factly. Cameron snorted, nearly spitting out his whiskey. 

“Did you get any of the fortune?” 

“No,” she sighed, crossing her arms. 

“How disappointing,” Cameron smiled. She rolled her eyes, resting her head in her hands. 

“What are you doing here, pretty boy?” she asked. 

“I need your help, Bordie.” 

“Me? My help? Thee Mr Fitz wants my help for once?” 

“Bordie...I come to you for help all the time!” 

“You haven’t asked me for any gossip since the summer!” 

“That was a month ago.” 

“It feels a lot longer!” she cried, throwing her hands in the air. Her many bracelets jingled loudly. A smile pulled at Cameron’s lips. He leaned his elbow against the bar, his chin resting on top of his fist as he looked up at her. 

“And my stories have suffered so much without you, Bordie. They have been missing your beauty,” Cameron said. 

“Stop it,” Bordie rolled her eyes. “No, they haven’t.” 

“Yes, they have! And my readers have been crying and wailing, saying ‘Bordie! Where is she? We can’t live without her!’” Cameron smiled. 

“No! I don’t believe it!” she leaned down towards him, a smile pulling at her lips. 

“It’s true! I am a mess without you, Bordie.” 

“Oh stop!” she giggled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You are just trying to get me to help you.” She said, her fingers trailing down his jaw to his chin, lifting his face to look up at her. “You’re a snake, Mr Fitz.” 

“Perhaps…” he said, looking up at her through his lashes. She smiled, her thumb gently stroking his jaw. After a moment, she pulled her hand away, reaching into her pocket for a cigarette. 

“Will you?” she asked softly. Cameron reached into his pocket for his lighter, it’s gold case glinting in the light. Bordie leaned down close to him, her finger grazing his hand as he lit her cigarette. She sat back up, taking a drag. Smoke billowed around her. 

“What do you want me to do?” She asked, billowing smoke towards him. Cameron smiled. 

“I need you to keep your eyes and ears out for me. There is a cult, a satanic cult here in New York and they’ve apparently been doing human sacrifices. Anything you hear...I need you to tell me as soon as you can.” 

“Sound dangerous.” 

“Possibly. If it gets bad, I will let you know. I have a group of people looking out for these people. You’ll be okay.” Cameron said. 

“And what about you? What happens after you publish this story? Am I going to be waking up one morning to find you hanging from a rope in the streets? Don’t be stupid, Cameron,” Bordie said sharply. “If publishing this story gets you killed, you should leave it all alone.” 

“I can’t just sit by and let people die!” 

“You are too good for your own good,” Bordie sighed, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. “I’ll be your ears but you really must be careful, Cameron. I enjoy your company and I don’t want to see anything happen to your pretty face.” 

“I’ll be careful, I promise.” 

“Good,” Bordie said, jumping down the bar top. “I like looking down at you,” Bordie smiled, looking up at him. “You should be on your knees more often.” 

“I’ll consider it,” Cameron said, taking a sip of his drink. 

“By the way…” Bordie moved close to him, her hand on his shoulder. “There has been a young gentleman in a white suit staring at you ever since we started talking. He’s been looking you over like a hungry dog eyeing his dinner.” Bordie smiled. Cameron snuck a glance over his shoulder at the young man in the corner. “You should go say hi,” 

“He’ll come to me,” Cameron said quietly, looking back down at her. “They always do.” Bordie rolled her eyes, taking a drag of her cigarette. 

“I’ll leave you to it then. I’ll see you around, pretty boy. And tell Toby I said hello.” 

“Will do,” Cameron said as she disappeared into the crowd, her silky pink dress rippling around her. The bartender refilled Cameron’s glass. 

“Excuse me,” a voice called out. Cameron turned, looking down at the young man in the white suit. He wore a white shirt underneath his suit jacket, his vest a soft, chocolate brown. “I was...I was wondering if you were Mr Fitz? I’m a big fan!” Cameron smiled. 

_ With love, your admirer. _

“Really?” 

“Yes! I think what you do is fascinating!” 

“I’m glad you enjoy it.” 

“I-I had no idea you were so handsome. I’ve only seen a photo in the gossip magazines and it doesn’t do you justice,” the young man said. Cameron laughed. 

“I-I...Thank you,” Cameron said.

“I was wondering if you could sign today’s column for me?” 

“Of course.” The young man reached into his coat for the folded up newspaper. He had it open to the column. Cameron grabbed his pen from his inside coat pocket. “Who do I make it out to?” 

“Smitty,” the young man smiled. Cameron wrote down a quick note before signing it as Mr Fitz. He glanced back up at Smitty, looking him over. He smiled and added his phone number under his name. 

“I have to go but I’ll see you around I hope?” Cameron smiled. 

“I’d like that,” Smitty nodded. Cameron finished his drink. He nodded to Smitty before turning away from him. “You should be careful, Mr Fitz! It’s dangerous out there!” Smitty called after him. Cameron glanced back over his shoulder at him for a moment before quickly turning away, disappearing into the crowd. 

Smitty looked down at the autograph and smiled. 

 

_ Something about the way Smitty warned me was unsettling. I had heard that warning from so many people I knew but hearing it from him felt different.  _

_ Looking back at my story so far, I am realizing that so many of the warning signs were there from the very beginning and I was too stupid to see them. Everything would be so much better if I had seen them. But like I said, I cannot change the past. I can only reflect.  _

_ On my way home that night, I felt followed. I kept looking over my shoulder, the back of my neck prickling under a sharp gaze. I walked as fast as I calmly could to my apartment. I triple checked the lock and closed all my curtains. I called Toby, telling him that I was home and okay. I told him I loved him. I laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling as I imagined someone sneaking into my home and smothering me to death in my sleep.  _

_ Funny how that was what I worried about. What was to come was far worse and more horrifying than I could ever imagine.  _


	3. Chapter 3

Cameron dreamed of a cold night.

Standing on the edge of the roof, his chest rising and falling heavily, he stared up at the bright night sky. The stars glimmered. A cold wind rippled around him, pulling at his coat and long white scarf. He could hear his heavy breaths, his heart beating slow.

He stared out over the cold, icy rooftop, his back to the unforgiving drop to the street below.

His chest rose and fell.

Blood began to ooze from his nose.

He slowly reached his hand to his face, his fingers coming away bloody.

He stared at the ruby red blood.

An invisible hand suddenly grabbed his collar.

Cameron let out a gasp.

The invisible force threw him backwards, off the building.

Cameron’s chest rose and fell.

The cold air whipped around him.

His white scarf rippled through the air.

The street rushed up to meet him.

A pale face stared over the edge, watching him fall.

A scream echoed through the cold air.

Snow fell around him.

Cameron’s chest rose and fell.

He hit the pavement.

“Cameron!” The golden-haired boy’s eyes opened wide as he sat up, heaving for air. A furious banging on his door echoed through the apartment. Cameron rubbed his eyes, still adjusting to the morning light that spilt through his bedroom windows. The string of pearls wrapped around one of the tall poles of his four-postered bed frame glinted in the soft light.

He took a deep breath before getting out of bed, pulling his soft, silky robe over his blue and white striped pyjamas. His robe rippled around him as he hurried to the front door, peering through the peephole. Toby stood on the other side of the door. Cameron quickly unlocked the door, letting him in. “Did I wake you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cameron said, closing the door behind Toby. The shorter boy glanced around the large apartment as Cameron started a pot of coffee. The bitter smell floated through the kitchen and into the living room as Toby pulled his scarf off, setting it down on the table as he looked up at the wall of columns that Cameron had written. “Murder in Long Island; The Bloody Death of a Maid”, “Scandalous Affair in Manhattan Ends with Divorce”, “Clash of the Rum Runners,” were some of the titles. Toby’s attention turned to the kitchen was Cameron returned with two cups of coffee. He had made Toby’s just how he liked it, extra cream and sugar

“Thanks,” Toby smiled, taking a sip of the sweet coffee. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Fine,” Cameron shrugged, sitting down on the couch. He had returned home from the speakeasy early. After dinner he had bathed, his long legs hanging over the edge of the golden claw foot bathtub as he read letters to Mr Fitz, bubbles up to his chin. Then he had crawled into bed where the nightmares found him. He tried not think of his dream, shuddering at the thought of it. “Why?”

“Something happened last night. I think it has something to do with this cult you are after,” Toby said, sitting down beside him. He reached into his coat pocket for that morning’s newspaper, handing it to Cameron. The black ink letters of the headlines stood at attention on the front page. “I got the paper from your newsies...Nice boys," Toby smiled. "Anyways, a girl went missing last night. Police were called when the neighbours heard some commotion. When they got there, the place was a mess and there was that message on the wall…” Toby said, his voice filled fear.

“We are many…” Cameron read. "I have to go see this."

“D-Do you have to go there? I mean...Can't you just work off what is in the paper? This is dangerous, Cameron! People are going missing!" Toby cried.  
“If you are so worried...why did you bring this to my attention?” Cameron demanded, turning to look at the blonde boy with narrowed eyes. Toby stammered, his eyes on his beige coloured coffee. “I have to see this for myself.” Cameron threw the paper down on the coffee table as he got up, his blue silky robe rippling around him.

“I’m coming with you!”

“You don’t like these sort of things,” Cameron said, turning to look back at him. Toby sighed.

“I don’t and as much as I want you to give this up, I know you won’t. So at least let me come with you to make sure you don’t end up dead,” Toby pleaded. Cameron smiled. He leaned against the back of the couch, pressing a kiss to Toby’s forehead.

“I want you to come with me...I feel invincible with you by my side,” Cameron said softly.

“Shut up,” Toby rolled his eyes. “Go get dressed.”

“Yes, my love,” Cameron said with a cheeky smile. He turned, heading to his bedroom. Toby turned his gaze back to the paper and the inky, black words.

A chill ran up his spine.

 

_I’ve been to crime scenes before. I’ve seen bodies. I’ve seen blood. However, none of that could prepare me for what I was going to see that day. Bodies and blood could be explained. If someone murders another, it’s only a matter of time until the killer and their motives are found. When someone goes missing? When something is left behind? When the veil is peeled back and we are shown something that should not exist?_

_I cannot explain that._

_Toby with all of his studies cannot explain that._

_By this point, I was very, very scared but I couldn’t let Toby see. I couldn’t let anyone see. If I was visibly scared, Mr Fitz would crack and crumble, leaving nothing but a quivering boy underneath it all._

_I had to be brave._

 

The two boys hurried across the busy street. The wind played with their coats and scarves, threatening to take the cap off Toby’s head. They reached the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding automobiles as they sped down the wide road.

“It's this way,” Toby said, leading the way down the street and around the corner. They found themselves on a quiet street lined with old, crumbling apartments, lines of laundry stretching across the street. Cameron glanced around the empty street before reaching for Toby’s hand, his cold fingers grazing against his. Toby glanced down at Cameron’s hand, their fingers entwining.

“A-Are you okay?” Toby asked quietly. Cameron nodded.

_I’ve learned that holding the hand of the person you love grounds you more than anything else._

The tall boy stared down at him, taking in the way his soft blonde hair glinted in the stormy light, the way his long white scarf fluttered around him, the way his eyes drank Cameron in like expensive champagne he’d taste only once in his life.

“Come here,” Cameron suddenly pulled Toby in a narrow alleyway between the old buildings. He pushed Toby against the cold, damp brick, kissing him as his left hand curled around the white scarf around Toby’s neck, pulling him closer. He felt Toby’s lips pull a smile against his.

_Toby is too good for me…_

Cameron broke away from the kiss. His eyes stayed closed for a moment, cherishing the soft feeling of Toby’s breath against his cheeks.

“We should...We should get going,” Toby breathed, his cheeks flushed. Cameron nodded. He stepped away from the shorter boy who adjusted his scarf before they hurried back to the road before anyone could notice them.  
At the end of the street was a small apartment building, a few police officers stationed around it. Cameron watched them apprehensively.

“Let's go around the back…” Cameron said. He lead the way down another narrow alleyway to the back of the building. The tall boy jumped for the old, rusting fire escape ladder, pulling it down. “After you,” Cameron smiled. Toby rolled his eyes and started to climb up the ladder. He grunted as he pulled himself up onto the fire escape, his white scarf hanging limply from his neck. He reached down, grabbing Cameron’s hand tightly and pulled him up onto the fire escape beside him. “W-Which floor is it on?” Cameron panted. All the champagne and the sweet treats he had been feasting on at all the parties was starting to catch up with him.

“The third. Come on,” Toby said, starting up the narrow metal stairs. Cameron hurried after him, his long black coat billowing in the cold wind. They reached the third floor. Toby stopped by the window, glancing inside the dark apartment. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,”

“Yes you can,” Cameron smiled. He gripped the peeling sill of the window and shoved it open, the wood catching in the frame. He grunted and put all he strength into pushing it open. The old curtains billowed in the rush of air. They were riddled with moth holes. Cameron climbed through the window. His coat got caught on a sliver of wood sticking out of the frame. The expensive silk lining his coat ripped. Cameron gritted his teeth, yanking his coat off the sliver. Toby was careful to avoid it as he climbed through. 

Cameron stared around the small, dingy apartment. The floorboards creaked under his polished boots. The front door had been kicked in or forced, suggesting that the girl had let the kidnappers in. A few of the kitchen table chairs had been knocked over, a vase smashed. The smell of mothballs and pomegranates hung in the air. On the wall was the three words painted in white.

Cameron moved cautiously towards the bedroom, glancing inside. It remained untouched, the blankets on the bed still thrown back from when the young woman had gotten up that morning, the closet doors open to reveal her dresses and a few pairs of shoes. On the bedside table was a framed photo of a young soldier, dressed proudly in his uniform.

Staring at that photo, a strange sense of unease came over Cameron. This was not just a crime scene. It was a home. A place of laughter and pain, of joy and anger, of safety and warmth, a place to rest one’s head, a place to love and live. This was not his place. He was not welcome in this place.

Cameron turned away from the bedroom, his eyes scanning the living room and kitchen.

“Her mother reported her missing…” Toby said from where he stood by the window. “She found the place like this...It looks like the girl must have let the kidnappers in...Which means she must have known them or something…” He shivered at the thought. Cameron’s gaze flickered down to the large rug on the floor. It was wrinkled, as if move then not quite straightened. Its old threads were faded, the flowers looking dirty and wilted. Cameron knelt down, his long black coat pooling around him as he picked up a corner of the rug. There something painted with white on to the dark floorboards. Cameron glanced up at Toby before standing up and yanking the rug back, throwing it aside. Dust flew through the cold air. “Holy shit…” Toby breathed.

Painted onto the floor was a large, upside pentagram. However, this pentagram had eight points. At each point of the star was smaller symbols in the shape of animal heads and a human hearts. Scattered around the star was pomegranate seeds. The rug had dragged most of them across the floor. They popped under Cameron’s boot as he stepped into the centre of the pentagram. “Be careful…” Toby breathed.  
“It’s just paint…” Cameron glanced up at Toby.

“I-It’s not just paint...It means something…” Toby breathed. Cameron stared down at the large white pentagram he stood in the middle of. A strange feeling of anger crept over Cameron. It whispered in his ear, telling him to do something he’d never in a million years do. His gaze turned to the shorter boy, his eyes narrowing darkly.

_Do it...Do it, Cameron…._

Toby stared at the tall boy, his eyes wide. He took a nervous step back, bumping into the window sill. The old curtains billowed in the cold breeze around him. Cameron wouldn’t let him go from his dark, angry gaze. “C-Cameron…” Toby managed to say. “Step out of the circle…”

“No…”

“Why not?”

“I like it.”

“Like what?”

“Being inside the circle…” A smile pulled tightly at his lips. Toby stared at him.

“Step out of the circle,” Toby said sharply. Cameron stared back at him, his hands curled tightly into fists. Dust floated through the cold air. The sounds of voices in the hallway floated under the door. Toby’s eyes widened. The shorted boy took a deep breath. He lunged forward, taking the few steps across the room and grabbed onto Cameron’s arm, yanking him out of the eight-pointed star and the circle that encompassed it. Cameron gasped, stumbling into Toby’s arms. The anger released her grip on him. Cameron glanced back at the large white symbol then to the door and the voices that were getting louder and louder on the other side. He dug into his coat pocket, grabbing his notebook and pen. “We gotta go!” Toby whispered. Cameron ignored him, sketching the symbol onto the page. “Cam!” Toby started through the window.

The door handle trembled as someone gripped it on the other side.

Cameron closed his book and quickly followed Toby through the window as the door open.

Two police officers stepped into the empty apartment.

They lowered their gaze to the crumbled up rug and the large demonic symbol painted onto the floor.

The curtains billowed in the cold wind.

 

_I_ admit, _I felt something strange in that circle. I don’t remember what I said, it was Toby who told me what I said to him while I stood in that pentagram. I just remember the anger, the voice in my head telling me….Telling me to...Even in writing, months after the fact, I cannot bring myself to repeat what that voice told me to do. Please do not ask me what it said...I will take that secret to my grave. It will be the only secret I will take with me._  
_After what happened at the apartment, Toby said he had had enough for the day. I understood. So I walked him home, kissed him goodbye. Toby said that it had been a strange date and he would much rather dinner and a show next time. I promised him that I could make that happen and headed back out into the city. I returned to the archives and this time, my dear friend Matt was in. Matt is the last member of my strange group of misfits I have yet to introduce to you. I met him in university here in New York. We were close friends. After Toby said that we should see other people….Matt was the first person I slept with. I remember crying in his small bathroom afterwards. Not because of anything Matt did but because of what I had done. I felt so guilty. Toby is so good to me. He said it’s okay but I will forever be guilty that it took so long for me to realize this was cruel to myself and most importantly, to Toby, who never found another to share his bed with. There was only me._

_I never told anyone about Matt and how I cried before writing it now. Like I said...I will take only one secret to my grave._  
_Anyways...Now, Matt is a city archivist and librarian. He knows how this city works, from its bones to its heart. He’s smart too and not afraid to use a gun when he has to. He is great with talking to people too...When he isn't studying, he takes visitors on tours through the library. Also...There is something quite sexy about him too. On more than one occasion, in the empty library or the cold archive room, among the shelves of books, of ancient authors and their beautiful words, he’s taken me on a private tour._

_On this occasion though, I was not looking to go on any such tour. I needed him to take a look at the symbol painted on that apartment’s floor. I had to find out where it came from and what it meant._

 

The tall boy strolled down the aisle, tall shelves of books on either side of him rising to the tall domed ceiling. The smell of paper, ink and old leather hung in the air. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows. Cameron’s fingers trailed over the leather spines of the books, as if caressing his lover’s face. The old carpet muffled his footsteps.

He turned the corner, his gaze landing on a young man who stood atop a tall wood step ladder. He leaned against the top step, a book held gently in his hands. His eyes took in every word. Cameron stared up at him, drinking in his lean frame and stubbled jaw. His tweed coat lay over one of the steps, his matching vest fitted to his torso. His tweed trousers were tight around his thighs. Cameron bit his lip. He glanced down at the notebook in his hand, reminding himself of why he was here. He cleared his throat. Matt looked up and smiled.

“My dear Mr Fitz...What brings you here?” Matt said as he closed the book, tucking it gently back into its home.

“Sorry to interrupt you…” Cameron said as Matt climbed down from the step ladder. “But I have something I need you to take a look at.”

“Oh?” Matt asked. Cameron stepped towards him and handed him the notebook. It was open to his rushed sketch of the symbol. Matt’s eyes widened.

“Do you know what it is?"

“No...But I’ve seen something like it before...This is some...Some fucked stuff, Cameron. Do you know what you are doing?” Matt asked, looking up at Cameron with concerned eyes. The tall boy nodded. “For your own sake I hope so,” Matt said quietly. He sighed. “This way…” he said reluctantly. He lead the way through the maze of towering shelves to a dark corner of the library. “This is all of our occult stuff. No one comes back here often...For good reason.” Dust littered the tops of the books. “We even have one made of human skin...But we keep it in the vault for obvious reasons.”

“I hope I don’t have to look at that one,” Cameron said, glancing down at Matt as the librarian reached up for one of the books. He flipped through the pages before coming to a stop.

“Here...I thought I’d seen something like it before,” Matt said, handing Cameron the book. “I’ll leave you to it...This stuff freaks me out.” Matt leaned up to give the tall boy a gentle kiss on his jaw before hurrying past him, into the warm sunlight coming in through the windows. Cameron stared down at the book. It was open to a section with the large symbol drawn in black ink.

“The Leviathan…” Cameron breathed.

 

The small lamp glowed, it’s green shade washing the desk in a soft glow. Books covered the desk. Cameron’s coat and suit jacket hung over the back of his chair. His vest was open, his collar unbuttoned, his tie loose around his neck. His blonde curls hung over his eyes as he stared down at the book in front of him. Notes covered the pages of his notebook. His cramped hand gripped the pen tightly. The library was dark, the sun having long ago set. The only other soul was Matt, his muffled footsteps through the shelves alerting Cameron to his presence. The journalist turned the page, the dark words spilling bloody secrets. The more he read, the more questions he had.

Human sacrifice.

Legions of demons.

The fall of the morning star.

Blood…so much blood.

Matt’s hand on his shoulder made him jump.

“You should take a break, my dear Mr Fitz…” Matt breathed against his ear. Cameron shook his head.

“I’m fine…” Cameron said softly. Matt pressed a kiss against his ear, his teeth scraping against his skin. Cameron shuddered. The archivist trailed kisses down to his neck. Cameron hummed, a smile spreading on his face. His teeth bit into his bottom lip, his grip tightening on his pen. Matt slid his hand down Cameron’s chest, reaching for his belt.

The pen dropped from Cameron’s hand, rolling across the pages covered with dark symbols and incantations.

His gasps echoed through the heavy silence that filled the library.

Outside, the first snow of the cold, unforgiving season began to fall.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the support this fic has gotten so far <3 If you can, please leave a comment. It means a lot <3

_ Our feelings and dreams can be odd. Sometimes, we dream things or experience things we don’t quite understand until much later and it’s too late to change anything. It’s useless. There were so many times during this horrible journey that I dreamt or experienced things I should have seen coming, things I should have made the effort to stop. But I was blind. So very, very blind.  _

_ Perhaps you, my dear readers, have already guessed what will happen to me and my beloved group of misfits. Perhaps from these few pages thus far, you have pieced together the puzzle that I failed to solve until it was too late. _

_ Please do not feel sorry for me. There is only one who deserves your sorrow and pity. I cannot talk about that just yet though for I know will start crying again. I am not ready to talk about that night. Even what I have told Toby is not the whole story. I don't want to think about it but I know I will have to face it eventually if I am to tell you this story. I can feel the tears in my eyes just from thinking about that night. I will tell you about that night eventually, but not yet. _

_ There is so much that lead up to that dreadful night. _

_ After my study session at the library, I still had no idea just dangerous these people could be. I knew they kidnapped people, I knew they killed them ritualistic ways. I didn’t think they could do more, I didn’t think they could worm their ways into my life and blow it all to pieces.  _

 

Steam rose from Cameron’s coffee mug. The sounds of traffic floated up to the tenth-floor apartment. A few flakes of snow fell past the frosty frames. The telephone cord stretched across the floor. Cameron’s pale fingers clutched the cradle, the phone against his ear. His leather trouser suspenders hung around his thighs, his white striped shirt collar unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

“Hi...I am calling for Madame Simone? Is she in?” Cameron asked, a few of his golden curls escaping the grease’s hold and falling over his eyes. 

“She’s not taking any calls, monsieur,” the butler on the other end of the line said with a sigh. 

“My name is Ca-“ he caught himself before he could let his name spill from his lips. “Mr Fitz. I was there for a seance a few days ago. I was the one who uh...who ran out. I run a newspaper column and I would really like to ask her a few questions.” 

“I am sorry monsieur. I can let her know you called?” 

“Please.” 

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” 

“No...Thank you,” Cameron sighed. “Good morning,” he said before hanging up. He set the phone down on the coffee table, making his way over to the desk where he pulled a cigarette from its box and lit it. He took a quick drag, smoke oozing from his lips and nostrils, floating into the air around him as he sat down. He stared at the symbols and notes he had scribbled onto the page. There was a smudge on the page from when he had clenched the pen in his hand, Matt’s hot breath sending tingles up and down his spine. 

A floorboard creaked. 

Cameron took another drag from his cigarette, his eyes drifting up to the hundreds of columns he had written, each one pinned to the wall. The column this coming Sunday was typed out and waiting to be carried to the editor on the side table by the door; another affair, another broken heart. 

“Pomegranates...missing girls...dead girls...Levithan...Army of Satan…” he mumbled, reaching for his coffee cup with his left hand. The coffee mixed bitterly with the cigarette but he forced it down. He stared up at the columns, smoke floating around him. “Missing...Missing...Dead…” 

“We heard about this body pulled from the river…” Mason had said, mustard staining his collar. 

“Oh…” Cameron suddenly dropped his cigarette into his coffee mug and jumped to his feet. He frantically pulled down some of the columns, reading over his words. If they didn’t fit what he was looking for, he tossed them over his shoulder, the floor slowly becoming covered with the newspaper clippings.

A floorboard creaked behind him. 

“The Mystery of the Floating Body, The Jane Doe of East End,” some of the clippings his hand were titled. “Blood and Milk…” That one had been strange. Six months ago, a man had been found stabbed to death and drenched with milk in the middle of the street. Cameron stared at the strange column he had written before throwing to the floor. 

It didn’t fit the pattern. 

The Jane Doe had been a young woman found dead in an old apartment in the east end, dressed all in white and stabbed to death. He remembered the smell of pomegranates and the seeds on the kitchen table. The floating body had been a similar tale; a young woman dead in the river, the faint smell of pomegranates clinging to her. Cameron climbed up onto his desk to reach some of the older columns, scanning the titles. The police didn’t like it when he got involved with murders so he tended to avoid them. The kidnappings, however, he had covered a few of those in hopes of finding the poor souls. Most of them never reappeared. 

A few of them fit the pattern too. 

Cameron jumped down from the desk, reading over the clippings. Distracted, he reached for his coffee mug, taking a long sip. The vile, bitter taste of nicotine and coffee filled his mouth. He gagged, quickly setting the mug down before rushing to the kitchen, spitting the tainted coffee out into the sink. 

_ It was times like these that I had to remind myself to not get distracted.  _

With the revolting taste still in his mouth, Cameron made his way back to his desk, slumping down into his chair as he looked over the columns that fit the pattern. A feeling of dread settled in his chest as he read over his dramatized, violent words. 

A floorboard creaked behind him. 

Cameron froze, his eyes on the clippings in his hand but he did not see the words. 

The floorboard creaked again. 

Something dripped to the floor. 

Blood. 

Cameron’s chest rose and fell heavily. 

The floorboards just behind creaked under a dead weight. 

A broken, bloody hand curled around Cameron’s shoulder. 

The tall boy trembled, his eyes not daring to look down at the bloody fingers digging into his flesh. 

Cameron suddenly let out a scream, jumping to his feet. The table shook, the mug of coffee falling to the floor where it shattered, the black liquid oozing into the floorboards. Cameron stared around the empty living room, his heart racing. 

“F-Fuck...Fuck…” Cameron stammered. He rubbed his eyes. “Fuck…” 

He needed air. 

 

The city crawled with life. Automobiles sped down the streets, no real laws holding them back. The sidewalks throbbed with people. Young women walking with their friends, their pearls glinting in the winter morning air. Men on their way to lunch talked about stocks, their hats low over their eyes. Children darted between the tall legs of the adults, their polished boots clicking on the frosty stone. 

Cameron hurried towards his editor’s office, the folder containing this week's column tucked under his arm. His long black coat billowed behind him, Toby’s red scarf tight around his neck. For once he remembered his hat, a wide-brimmed black hat with a small greenish-yellow feather that he had found while climbing the rocks along the beach back home when he was a boy. His father told him it was from a rock wren; a little bird that made its home among the rocks that lined the shore. The boy had kept the feather, forgetting that it was in one of his coats till he got to New York where he tucked it into his hat’s ribbon. 

The delicious, mouth-watering scents of lunch poured from restaurants. He told himself he could grab something on the way home. He dug his hands into his pockets and continued down the street. He wondered if Toby would like to get lunch with him. Even though he had seen him the day before, he missed him. 

Guilt festered in his heart. 

“Mr Fitz! Mr Fitz!” a voice called out. Cameron kept walking. “Mr Fitz!” A hand reached for his arm. Cameron turned defensively. “H-Hi! I’m Smitty, remember? We met a day or two ago…” Cameron’s tense shoulders relaxed as he stared down at the shorter man. 

“Oh...Yes. Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Cameron lied. 

“I was wondering...would you like to get lunch with me? It’s on me!” Smitty said with a smile. Cameron blinked. He glanced down at his folder. He should get it to his editor soon. He lifted his gaze to Smitty who was dressed in a crisp, cream coloured suit, a lavender coloured vest peeking out from under his suit jacket and heavy black coat he wore over top to keep the cold out. “I know a good place not far from here and-” 

“Alright,” Cameron said. Smitty smiled brightly. 

“I’m so honoured! Lunch with thee Mr Fitz!” Smitty said excitedly. 

“Don’t,” Cameron said quietly. Smitty didn’t hear him. The shorter boy led the way a few blocks out of Cameron’s way to a small French restaurant. They sat by the window, the traffic and pedestrians passing by. Cameron stared out the window, the winter sunlight washing him in a grey glow. Smitty ordered a bottle of red wine for them to share. 

The tall boy glanced at his old, rusting pocket watch; 11:30 am. His gaze flickered back up to Smitty. 

Cameron’s icy gaze watched Smitty as the waiter poured their wine before leaving them alone in the corner by the window.  His chin rested in his hand, his pointer finger tapping against his cheek. Smitty stared back at him. Cameron watched him drink in the way his curls sparkled like strands of gold in the winter glow, the way his beige tweed suit was fitted to his tall frame, his collar tight around his neck, the way he lounged in the chair as if he owned the place, the way his bright eyes held him in their icy grip. Smitty’s hand curled into a fist under the table. 

“Well…” Cameron reached for his wine. “What shall we drink to? 

“To New York...For bringing us together on this fine day,” Smitty smiled. Cameron blinked. 

“To New York…” Cameron took a long drink from his wine before setting the glass back down on the table. 

“May I ask...Are you from New York?” Smitty asked. Cameron stared at him. “I know Mr Fitz is a character. It’s your safety net...Your wall. I understand. I won’t tell anyone anything you say to me.” 

“How can I trust you?” Cameron asked, running his finger lightly over the rim of the wine glass. Smitty’s gaze flickered to his hand. He swallowed. 

“I like you, Mr Fitz...and I only have one motive,” Smitty said softly. Cameron’s hand stopped, his gaze turning to Smitty. He smiled. He could make him tell him what that motive was. A part of him, a part of him that was turned on by the attention, wanted to hear those words. “I just want to get to know you. You seem so...beautiful and handsome in every way…It’s mesmerizing,” Smitty said softly. Cameron stared at him. Smitty’s cheeks were red. “I want to-” 

“Monsieurs, your lunch!” Two waiters set their plates down in front of them. Smitty coughed awkwardly, taking a sip from his wine. Cameron smiled. 

They ate in silence, music floating softly around them. Laughter echoed from another table. Silverware clinked and scraped against the plates. 

“I’m from New Zealand,” Cameron finally said, leaning back in his chair. Smitty looked up at him, his mouth full of soup. “I came here a few years ago. What about you?” 

“Toronto,” Smitty managed to say, swallowing quickly. “I moved last year.” 

“Toronto...Sounds cold,” Cameron mused. 

“Very…” Smitty nodded. “Always needed to find ways to stay warm,” he said, glancing up at Cameron who smiled. 

“How do you like to stay warm, Smitty?” Cameron asked, leaning forward to rest his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand. Smitty smiled, looking him over. The way he stared at Cameron made him think he’d throw everything off the table and have him right then and there. Cameron smiled at the thought. 

“Oh, you know…” Smitty said, his gaze lowering to the white tablecloth. “A warm bed…warm blankets...a fire…” 

“Sounds delightful,” Cameron said softly. He reached for his wine, taking a sip. His gaze never left Smitty. 

“May I please know your real name? I feel weird...calling you something you aren’t,” Smitty said. Cameron set his glass down. 

“I don’t just give anyone my name...You have to earn it,” Cameron said sharply. Smitty swallowed. 

“How?” 

“I have to trust you. Trust you won’t give away all my secrets. I have a lot, Smitty. You wouldn’t believe it,” Cameron teased. 

“I can believe it. I think you can be just as naughty as the people you write about,” Smitty said. Cameron blinked. “I think you can be very bad, Mr Fitz,” Smitty smiled. A shiver ran up Cameron’s spine. Smitty leaned forwards, the edge of the table digging into his chest. His voice quieted, his dark eyes holding Cameron. “I won’t kiss and tell…” Cameron glanced around the restaurant. Tucked away in the corner by the tall window, no one cast any attention their way. Cameron suddenly stood up, stepping away from his chair. He placed a hand under Smitty’s chin, lifting his face up to him. He leaned down, his lips grazing Smitty’s. The shorter boy gasped, his eyes fluttering closed. 

“Thank you for lunch,” Cameron breathed against his lips.

A shiver ran up Cameron's spine. 

Cameron's hand curled around his black coat resting on his chair. He pulled it off with a dramatic flair, pulling it on before grabbing his scarf and folder. He left Smitty sitting there, staring after him with wide eyes. He slowly reached his fingers up to his lips, feeling where Cameron’s had just barely grazed against them. 

Smitty smiled. 

 

_ I remember during my first year of university, when I was still figuring out who I was and what I liked, I was studying alone in the library. At the end of each shelf were these old greek status. They were beautiful, made of marble and clay, their white eyes watching me everywhere I went. I remember on that day, walking among the shelves, finding the books I needed for my paper. I had a whole stack of them in my arms, weighing me down to the floor. They dug through my sweater vest I wore, sewn with my school colours. It was cold in that library. I always kept my coat on.  _

_ I remember walking past one of those statues, Dionysus, Greek God of wine, grapes, ritual madness, religious ecstasy and the theatre. Quite a lot to be the God of but I supposed it is all related. The marble statue stood there, frozen in time in all his glory. I remembered hearing stories of people kissing the status of Gods and graves of authors in Paris, and I thought of how romantic that sounded. To leave a kiss for Shelly, for Byron, to dare kiss the lips of a cold, stone immortal. Doesn’t that sound beautiful? I remember how I glanced around that silent, empty library just like how I would look around that French restaurant years later, before leaning forward, my arms holding the stack of books tight to my chest, and I kissed that Greek God’s cold, marble lips. A kind of excitement shot through me. I quickly pulled away, feeling embarrassed about what I had just done. I returned to my chair but all I could think of was the shiver that had run up my spine.  _

_ I felt the same thing when I felt Smitty’s lips against mine. There was something about him, something dark and attractive. It was not love I felt like I feel for my Toby, but a feeling of immense lust, something carnal. I never kissed that statue again, too embarrassed to even think about it. I hoped that I would kiss Smitty again.  _

 

The sun dipped closer to the horizon as the evening hours neared, darkness settling over the city. Cameron walked up the steps to his apartment, glancing around the street before stepping inside. Warm air floated around him as he walked up the ten flights of stairs. The thought of Smitty swam through his head. Cameron gripped the railing tightly, climbing the winding stairs. He reached the tenth floor, pulling his keys from his pocket. He stopped by his door, his eyes on a brown paper wrapped package resting on the floor. He bent down, picking up the small folded note tucked under the twine that bound that box. 

“Sorry I missed your call...I hope you like these shoes. The symbols will protect you. I see grave danger in your future. Please come for tea soon so we can talk. Regards, Madame Simone,” the note read. Cameron tucked the note into his pocket and unlocked the door, stepping inside. He set the box down on the kitchen table, cutting the twine with a knife before opening the package. Inside was a box. He lifted the lid, finding a pair of new, elegant shoes inside. Cameron’s brow furrowed. He reached for one, turning it over to look at the sole. Engraved in into the heel and the sole were strange, circular symbols, one of them with a large eye in the middle of it. Cameron blinked. They were nice shoes. He pulled off his old boots and tried them on. They were surprisingly comfortable, the polished leather glinting in the light. He lifted his right foot, looking down at the engraved symbol and the eye in the heel. He supposed that he could humour her and wear them. 

He left his coat on the chair, pulling off his suit jacket before pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He tossed his cat onto the couch, the small wren feather twitching. He stopped by the desk, looking over the mess he had made. Clippings lay across the floor, the coffee mug pieces still laying on the floorboards, the coffee long ago soaked into the wood and left a stain. He sighed. He set his glass of whiskey down on the desk and picked up the glass. He tossed them in the trash before wetting a cloth to clean the floor. Cameron picked up his whiskey glass, taking a sip as he headed towards his bedroom. He decided he’d go to bed early and go see Toby in the morning. Maybe he’d call on Madame Simone tomorrow. He took another sip from his whiskey. 

He crossed the threshold into his bedroom. 

A wire dug into his shin for a moment before it suddenly gave away as he stepped into his room. 

Cameron looked down. 

There was a click. 

“Grenades…” Swagger said once, his eyes on the rum in his glass as he leaned against the headboard. Cameron looked up at him from where he lay beside him on the bed, his cigarette smoking. “My worst nightmare,” the soldier said, his eyes on the front. 

The crystal glass fell from Cameron’s hand. 

The explosion ripped through the apartment, the force throwing Cameron against the bedroom wall. His rang painfully, his head spun.

Ash and glass fell through the air. 

Cameron landed painfully on the floor. 

He could faintly hear screaming from somewhere below him. 

He lay there, dazed and unable to move. 

As the world began to slow its wild spinning, Cameron let out a cry of pain, slowly rolling onto his back. Blood oozed from his side, pieces of wood and shrapnel embedded deep into his torso. He cried out again, coughing up blood. He pressed his hands over the deep wounds, slivers of wood digging into his palms. Blood soaked the carpet. 

“O-Oh...G-God….F-Fuck…” Cameron gasped in agony. His hands trembled violently, his nerves shot. He laid his head back on the floor. "H-Help..." He tried to call out, spitting blood onto the carpet. Smoke and dust choked him. Darkness blurred the edges of his vision. Blood oozed between his lips and dripped down his chin, staining his white collar. His hands dropped limply to his bleeding chest. 

Darkness embraced him. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the support this fic has gotten so far. If you can, please leave a comment. It means a lot <3  
> I hope you enjoy the chapter!

A cold wind billowed down the hillside. The tall grass danced in the wind creating green waves that rolled across the hillside. Small white flowers growing among the tall grass twinkled like stars in the vast night sky. The sun shone brightly over the ocean, the waves sparkling in the warm summer glow. The endless blue sky stretched overhead.

Cameron stared up at that blue sky. He lay among the grass and white flowers. The warm wind caressed his face. The sound of the grass rustling floated around him, soothing him. He closed his eyes, running his hands over the soft grass, feeling the small white petals against his fingers.

He could stay here forever.

A cloud swept over the sun, a shadow falling over him. Cameron opened his eyes, looking up at the darkening sky. The wind picked up, it’s gentleness gone. Cameron gritted his teeth, a sore aching pain coming over him as he struggled to stand. Blood began to seep through his white linen shirt. He pressed his hands against his bloody chest, heaving for air.

He felt eyes on his back.

Slowly, he turned.

Standing at the top of the hill was a great beast, eight horns growing from its goat-like skull. Its eyes burned like embers, searing and cruel. Its hands had long claws, vicious points that glinted in the light. It stood on legs that had been bent backwards, it’s leathery skin pulled tight across its skeletal frame, as if it had been pulled off then sewn back on.

A dread unlike any other came over Cameron.

The beast stared down the hill at him.

It saw him.

Cameron suddenly fell to his knees, blood splattering onto the soft, white petals. Terror choked the air from his lungs as he raised his head, looking up at the beast that stood at the top of the hill. Blood dripped from his lips.

_So this is hell…_

Cameron collapsed to the grass. The soft white flowers pressed kisses to his pale, sweating face. Cameron gasped in agony.

A loud crack like thunder, like an explosion, ripped through the air.

The ground fell away under Cameron. He let out a scream as he began to fall.

Cameron’s chest rose and fell.

The cold air whipped around him.

His white scarf rippled through the air.

The street rushed up to meet him.

A pale face stared over the edge, watching him fall.

It was his own face staring over the edge, watching in horror.

A scream echoed through the cold air.

Snow fell around him.

Cameron’s chest rose and fell.

He hit the pavement.

Cameron’s eyes shot open.

He heaved for air, sweat dripping down his face.

“Hey...Hey...Shhh...It’s okay,” a gentle voice said softly. “Take it easy, you’re okay.” Cameron blinked, struggling to see through the pale white light that came through the small window above him. A gentle hand pressed him back down onto the bed, caressing his cheek. He leaned his face into the soft palm, heaving for air through aching lungs. “You’re okay… I’m right here,” the voice said softly. Cameron blinked, his eyes adjusting to the white light. A familiar face smiled down at him, illuminated softly in the winter sunlight. “I promised you...I’d take care of you…” he said. A feeling of calm washed over him. Fuzzy exhaustion reached for him, wrapping him in her arms. His eyes closed as he began to fall into a gentle sleep. “You’re okay now…”

 

_I dreamed of white flowers and wrens hoping among the rocks. I dreamed of the vast blue sky and the roaring, deep ocean. I dreamed of my mother and her soft skirts gliding across the floor. She moved as though she were floating. I dreamed of my father and his study full of books about the world and all of the magic it contained._

_I dreamed of home._

_In that strange place between waking and dreaming, between life and death, heightened by the countless drops of morphine they pumped into me, I thought about where I would like to die._

_At home._

_I was so far from home._

_I begged the universe, begged God, any God, anyone who would listen._

_Please don’t let me die so far from home._

_My dreams began to turn into something else….something more real. Something I can’t explain nor will I ever be able to explain. I dreamed of a place I hope I’ll never see again; a labyrinth of memories and agony, of the impossible and the horrifying._

_And it was there...that thing….It wanted to drag me to hell…and it probably would have if I didn't get out._

_I don't know what is real from my memories of that week spent in and out of waking, and what isn't._

_What I do know is that I have never felt a terror more real than in that state of dreaming and death._

 

Soft fingers plucked at the strings of a guitar. The sound of music and a soft voice creating a gentle melody floated through the white, sterile room. Cold sunlight floated through the small window above the bed. The white paint on the metal frame was peeling.

“In her lonely years….I heard a mother murmur through her tears…” the soft voice sang. “I didn’t raise my boy to be a soldier...I brought him up to be my pride and joy…” the words of the wartime song floated through the hospital room. They reached for the tall boy who lay asleep in the white bed, his golden curls forming a halo around his gentle face. His torso was wrapped tightly with gauze. The surgeons felt like they had gotten all the shrapnel and pieces of wood out of him. “It's time to lay down the sword and gun away...There’d be no war today…” Cameron’s right hand curled into a fist. For just a moment, his bright eyes flickered open, taking in the white ceiling above him. His gaze moved down the wall to the newsboy that sat at the end of his bed, playing his guitar. Sitting on the floor beside him was the other newsboy, his cap held tight in his hands.

Mason smiled when he noticed Cameron staring dimly at them. He tapped Jay’s knee, the other boy turning to look at him, his fingers falling still on the strings. Jay’s lips pulled into a smile. Through his drugged haze, Cameron stared at the boys. He wanted to tell Jay to keep playing but the words couldn’t escape his throat. Only a gasping sound escaped his lips.

“It’s okay,” Mason said, climbing up onto the bed where he curled up beside Cameron, resting his head gently on his good shoulder. Cameron felt a small smile spread on his lips, his head resting against the top of Mason’s. “Sleep...That’s all you gotta do...Sleep. You’ll be okay…” Jay began to play again, the gentle music floating through the room as Cameron’s eyes closed once more.

Darkness swallowed the brief glimmer of light and life, sending him falling deeper and deeper into that liminal place, in between everything he knew and everything he never wished to know.

Standing alone in the dark, Cameron slowly raised his head. Snow began to fall around him, landing on his blue velvet-clad shoulders. He reached his hand up to the snow, catching a few of the flakes in his hand.

“Cameron!” a giddy voice rang out through the dark.

Warm golden light suddenly flooded the dark.

Chandeliers floated in the air above him.

He now stood in the middle of a roaring ballroom, music and voices filling the air. He turned to see Bordie who swept him into a quick waltz, her pink dress swirling around her. Cameron smiled, giving into the wild dance. She laughed as they spun around the golden dance floor. They sparkled in the golden light, the chandelier above them dripping with jewels like crystalized snow.

Bordie smiled, reaching up on her tiptoes to place a kiss on Cameron’s cheek. The tall boy still had to bend down for her to reach him. Her lips left a soft purple mark on his cheek. “Come back to us…” she said softly. Cameron stared down at her as the jewels began to gently fall from the chandeliers, turning in to snow that coated the floor in a soft white blanket. He reached up for one of the softly falling gems, catching a diamond in his hand. He placed it in her palm and watched it melt into water and drip between her fingers.

A cold wind suddenly blew out the candles.

Cameron turned, looking for Bordie but she was gone.

Everyone was gone and he was alone in the cold ballroom.

The sound of a hoof clicking on the marble floor sent chills up Cameron’s spine.

Through the darkness, it saw him.

Shadows crept along the snowy floor. Pale moonlight shone through the ballroom’s windows. Shadows slithered across the floor. His heart raced. The sound of the inhuman footsteps came ever closer.

Cameron felt frozen in place.

“This way!” a voice suddenly called out through the dark.

Cameron turned to see a door open in the wall, warm light shining through it. Cameron burst into a run. His long legs carried him to the door.

The thing gave chase.

He could feel it’s hot breath on his back. He reached the door. He stumbled into the warm room, slamming the door shut behind him. He held it closed as the thing threw itself against it. The thing screamed.

_Please don’t let me die so far from home…_

Cameron pressed his ear against the door.

Silence.

“Cameron…” the voice said softly. The tall boy turned to see a large, beautiful library, more beautiful than any he had seen before. Shelves stood proudly, bearing beautiful copies of books written by ancient hands. Busts and statues of Gods stood on guard at the ends of each of the tall mahogany shelves. Cameron smiled, stepping further into the large room. He looked up at its towering domed ceiling painted with stars and angels. “Come find me…”

Cameron smiled. He trailed his fingers along the spines of the books as he walked between the aisles. He heard a giggle and followed it through the maze of towering stacks, the stars on the painted ceiling glowing brighter and brighter with every step, every breath, every laugh.

He turned the corner, finding Matt leaning against one of the tall shelves. He was dressed in a velvet waistcoat and soft linen white shirt, his white sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his black trousers fitted, his black shoes glinting in the light. He motioned for Cameron to come closer, a smile on his soft lips. The tall boy stepped towards him, breathing in the smell of paper and ink that clung to him. Cameron leaned down to kiss him but stopped when Matt pressed his finger against the tall boy’s lips. “Not here...You have to come back to us…” Matt said softly. “Please, Cameron…You lost so much blood. They don’t know if you’ll make it.” Cameron stared down at him, his chest full of fear. His heart raced. “Come back…” Matt’s thumb traced Cameron’s lips. “You’ll never really love me…” Matt said softly, his eyes on Cameron's soft lips. A rock formed in Cameron’s throat; another stone of guilt. “It’s okay…Just come back to us…”

A flurry of muffled gunshots made Cameron jump.

The two glanced down the aisle of books, seeing a door at the other end that hadn’t been there before. When Cameron looked back, Matt was gone.

The lights at the other end of the aisle suddenly went out.

From the darkness, the thing watched him.

_Please don’t let me die so far from home…._

Cameron broke into a run towards the door, reaching for the golden handle. The sound of gunshots and exploding shells became louder.

He threw open the door, the lights going out in the library behind him.

He took a step forward and began to fall.

Cameron fell onto muddy earth and was sent sliding down the steep slope and landing hard on the rotting planks of the trench. He stared around the muddy trench with wide eyes. Rain and shells showered down over the front. A bloody arm stuck out from the trench wall. Cameron gagged, the smell of death lingering in the cold air. Rain and mud dripped down his face, soaking his velvet jacket and white shirt. A shell exploded on the other side of the trench, showering Cameron with mud and bloody water as he threw his arms over his head. He could hear screaming, hear the whistle of shells falling through the air, the rattle of the infantry guns. He looked up at the red sky, white flashes from the guns mounted atop planes shone through the clouds.

Death soaked out of every crack, shot out of every gun and exploded with every shell.

“Come on,” a strong hand suddenly curled around Cameron’s wet arm, hauling him to his feet. Cameron looked down at Swagger, his circular helmet atop his head dripping with rainwater, his green uniform soaked through. In his left hand was his rifle. The right side of his jacket was covered with stolen medals. “If you stay here you’ll never leave...You’ll die,” Swagger said, leading the way through the trench, guiding a path through the chaos. Cameron clung onto his arm, his heart beating fast. He looked over his shoulder, his gaze scanning the grey, violent world for the thing that pursued his soul. “What did I tell you about grenades, Cameron?” Swagger yelled over the roar of the guns. Another whistle pierced the air. Swagger pulled Cameron down, throwing him into the mud and covered the tall boy with his own body as the shell exploded near the trench, another wave of mud crashing over them. “Police say it was a gas leak but I know shrapnel!” Swagger said, hauling Cameron to his feet. “Someone tried to kill you! Don’t let them succeed. Wake up, Cameron!” Swagger screamed. Cameron stared down at him. He had never heard him sound so desperate, so scared before. “Wake up…Please…”

A shell screamed through the air.

It struck the trench.

Cameron hit the muddy wall of the trench and fell hard to the ground. Pain shot through his side as he rolled onto his back. Pieces of wood and shrapnel embedded themselves deeply into his torso. He let out a gasp of agony, the chaos of the war melting away into darkness. He lay there, sobbing and gasping in pain, his shot nerves making his hands tremble painfully.

“In her lonely years….I heard a mother murmur through her tears…” Jay’s melodic voice floated through the dark. Cameron laid his head back, closing his eyes. He could taste blood. It welled up in his mouth, forcing him to either cough it out or choke on it. “I didn’t raise my boy to be a soldier...I brought him up to be my pride and joy…”

A rush of humid warmth filled the air.

“I’m here…” Cameron opened his eyes. Silence washed over him. The screaming, the mud, the shells, all of it was gone.

He lay on a soft blue daybed surrounded by tall palm trees and ferns. Through the large green leaves, he could see the glass roof of a greenhouse, just like the one his mother had back home, where he had run through the towering trees, birds flying overhead and mice scurrying across the brick path.

_Is this home? Will I die here?_

Cameron slowly sat up. He pressed his hand to his chest, expecting there to be blood but there was nothing. His velvet jacket glimmered in the warm light. He took a deep breath.

Footsteps pattered down the brick path.

Cameron glanced over his shoulder, seeing a glimpse of movement through the trees. He smiled getting to his feet and hurried after the shorter boy. He pushed his way through the tall leaves around the pool of lily pads and cattails. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck. He followed his love through the greenhouse but never quite caught up to him.

The tall boy stumbled into a room filled with white roses. In the centre of it all was a statue. Not of a god, not of a romantic author, but of a young man dressed all in white.

Frozen in time, Smitty stared down at the white tiled floor.

Cameron took a hesitant step towards the statue. His heart raced. He moved onto his tiptoes, his lips brushing against the statue’s, feeling the cold marble against his hot skin.

He kissed the statue, a shiver running up his spine.

Cold marble arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer.

The lights flickered.

A clawed hand curled around the statue’s shoulder.

Cameron broke away from the kiss, stumbling back from the statue.

Smitty stared at him.

Over his shoulder, the thing with eight horns stared at him, it’s bloody eyes seeing Cameron.

The tall boy fell back onto the floor, slipping on the white rose petals that covered the floor.

The thing’s lips spread in a tight, cruel smile. It pushed the statue aside, sending Smitty’s likeness crumbling to the floor. Cameron scrambled backwards, the thing coming closer and closer, it’s leathery skin covered with a layer of blood and mucus. It lunged at Cameron, it’s eight horns glinting in the white light.

Cameron found his voice.

A scream tore itself from his chest as he threw his arms over his face.

“Cameron! Cameron!”

His eyes flickered open.

He lay on the hospital bed, cold wintery sunlight shining through the window above his bed. He took a deep gasping breath, not sure if he was really awake. “It’s okay...Breathe...Breathe…” the soft voice said. Cameron looked up at the figure that leaned over him, illuminated by the sunlight. There was a hopeful smile on his face, his eyes filled with tears.

“T-Toby…” Cameron gasped. “Toby…”

 

_I can’t quite explain what I remember from those days I spent in that state, in that liminal place somewhere between the land of the living and the dead. I told you all that I remember but I can’t explain what it means, even now. What I do know though was in that place was when I first saw that thing….the eight horned thing and it saw me. Toby told me I was asleep the whole time but I remember that dream, those feelings, what I heard and what I saw. I remember that thing; the leviathan. It felt real. All of it. I don’t know how I got out…I know this all sounds crazy. I won’t try to explain it further._

_All I know is that I was terrified….but I had survived._

_Toby took me home a few days after I woke up in his new Ford car. It was painted a perfect black and it’s engine roared. I was so happy to see him smile like that on the drive back to his home. It was a beautiful automobile._

_When we reached his brownstone he parked out front and helped me up the icy stairs. I walked with a crutch, the wounds and bed rest leaving me weak. I made myself at home in Toby’s home. I was so happy to wake up next to him every day and to fall asleep beside him. I forgot about my guilt for I was with Toby, the one person I needed and wanted. He cleaned my stitches and comforted me when the nightmares found me._

_He took care of me._

_He always has._

_He promised he would._

_The explosion, my near death and what I saw in that dream...All of it should have been enough reason to stop and leave all of it alone. I should have found another case, should have given up on Mr Fitz; he had a target on his back, a price on his head. But I didn’t and I regret it deeply._

_Everything that came next happened because of one silly newspaper ad and my stubborn stupidity._

 

Snow fell softly outside the tall living room window. The fire crackled and popped. Swaddled in a warm blanket, Cameron rested his head against the back of the large armchair, his gaze on the frosty window. In his hands was Fitzgerald’s This Side of Paradise but he hadn’t turned the page despite finishing it minutes ago. Resting beside his chair was his new cane, a tall walking stick made of dark wood and topped with a silver handle engraved with roses and birds. Toby had gotten it for him.

“It's better than a crutch. Besides...I think it really brings together your whole Mr Fitz look...You look sexy,” Toby had mused when Cameron tried walking up the hall with it.

“There is nothing sexy about this…” Cameron had gasped, already short of breath. “About any of it…”

“Cam…” Toby had sighed. Cameron had ignored him. Toby didn’t say anything more about it but Cameron caught him staring a few times.

Cameron stared at the window and the quiet street beyond the glass. Hazy memories of white rose petals, mud and towering bookshelves floated through his mind. He reached his pale hand up to his lips, feeling where he had kissed the statue of Smitty. He couldn’t figure out of it had been real or not; it felt real.

“Here’s some tea,” Toby’s voice yanked Cameron out of his thoughts. He quickly pulled his hand away from his lips, looking up at Toby with a smile. Toby set the teacup down on the small table beside the chair, steam rising from its green depths.

“T-Thanks,” Cameron said softly. Toby nodded, sitting down across from him. He reached for today’s paper on the coffee table, pulling it open. Cameron stared down at his book. The fire crackled.

The floorboards behind him creaked.

Cameron’s grip on his book tightened. He slowly leaned to his good side, peering around the back of the chair. He saw nothing but the entrance to the hallway and the narrow staircase beyond. He stared at the dark entrance, the firelight flickering on the walls. The faint sound of a laugh drifted through the air. Toby glanced at the window. Cameron’s gaze remained fixed on the entrance to the hallway.

Silence fell over the parlour. The fire crackled. The newspaper in Toby’s hands rustled as he turned the page. Cameron slowly sat back in his seat, his side feeling sore from the awkward movement. His bright gaze turned to Toby. He could see the front and back pages of the newspaper.

Something on the back page caught his attention.

Cameron stared at it.

Then he saw it.

Cameron threw the blanket off his lap, grabbing his cane as he forced himself to his feet. Toby looked up at him, his brow furrowing. Cameron yanked the paper from his hands, the inside pages slipping out and spilling across the floor.

“What the hell, Cam?” Toby yelled. Cameron ignored him, staring at the ad on the back of the newspaper. “Cameron!”

“T-There….There...Do you see it?” Cameron lowered the paper, point at the ad.

“I see an ad for a weird burlesque show,” Toby sighed.

“No...No look closer,” Cameron pointed to the letter ‘o’ in the bright red words written across the top of the ad. “There…” Cameron breathed. Toby leaned back in his chair.

“I-It’s a coincidence…”

“No it’s not,” Cameron said sharply. “This where they are...This is who tried to kill me...Who killed all those women. Toby, we have to go there.”

“No,” Toby crossed his arms. “You are recovering from a very serious wound, Cameron! You were in a coma for days!”

“More people are going to die if we don’t stop them!” Cameron yelled. Toby flinched. Cameron sighed. “I-I’m sorry…”

“I don’t want you to die…” Toby breathed. Cameron stared down at him, his grip tight on the newspaper. Toby threw his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry I’m so fucking selfish! Do whatever you want!” Toby got up, kicking some of the dropped pages from the newspaper. “You won’t listen to me anyways…” Toby muttered. He stormed out of the room before Cameron could stop him. Cameron stood in front of the fire, the newspaper hanging limply from his hand. The firelight washed him in a red glow. He stared after Toby, a stone of guilt throbbing in his chest.

The firelight flickered over the newspaper.

On the back page was an advertisement featuring the Vogue like drawings of two women dressed all in red and feathers, devil horns growing from their heads. The red words above them read “The Devil’s Follies, the best show in town.”

Inside the ‘o’ was the eight-pointed symbol for the Leviathan.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the support this fic has gotten so far. Please leave a comment if you can, it means a lot <3

_ Toby was right, I didn’t listen to him. That was my biggest mistake. If only I had listened to him, this may never have happened. I wouldn’t be sitting here now, trying to defend myself, trying to prove my innocence, revealing all my secrets to save myself and everyone else I love.  _

_ I know that once this reaches the pages of the New Yorker, I may never be able to return to the city, not because of what happened but because of who I am and who I love. I don’t resent that fact, I know it well. I find comfort in it. _

_ I will hesitate if I am ever called back to that dreadful, grey city.  _

_ I pray that I never see it again as long as I live. It is cold and merciless, cruel and sadistic. Every time I think of New York I am reminded of the mess it made of my heart. It aches, full of grief and horror at things I will never be able to fully understand. My heart’s a mess and it will never heal. Not even Toby’s love will heal it.  _

_ I am not ready yet to talk about what came after the explosion and my recovery but I have no choice. I may have to stop now and again because I am crying too much. I apologize for that and if it makes my recollection disjointed.  _

_ I will do my best.  _

_ After my spat with Toby over the Devil’s Follies, I called Swagger and Matt and asked if they would come with me, be my backup. When I mentioned to Toby that some of my friends would be coming with me later on, Toby insisted that he at least drive us.  _

_ As angry as Toby was with me, he wasn’t going to let me die.  _

 

A cold wind swept down the street, throwing snow into the crisp air. The sky was a bright blue, not a cloud in sight. The sun shone brightly, illuminated the ice that coated the sidewalk. It glinted on the metal of the slick black Ford automobile parked out front of the brownstone. 

Leaning against its cold hood, Cameron took a long drag from his cigarette, smoke billowing around him in the cold air. He wore one of Toby’s wide-brimmed black hats. Some of his clothing had managed to be salvaged so he wore his old black velvet waistcoat under a new suit jacket and new black trench coat. His black trousers were fitted, his shoes glinting in the light. On their soles were the engraved symbols Madame Simone had enchanted. 

Around his neck was Toby’s white scarf. 

Smoke oozed out of his nostrils and between his lips, floating through the cold air around him before dissipating. He glanced up at the front door as it opened. Toby stepped out onto the front step, his bright eyes looking Cameron over. Dressed so sharply, the silver handle of the cane in his hand, he looked like a proper gangster. Toby lowered his face into his scarf as he turned away from Cameron to lock the door, hiding his blush. 

“Nice car…” Cameron lifted his head, looking up at Matt and Swagger as they approached, their eyes on Cameron and the sleek black Ford. 

“Morning,” Cameron said, tossing his cigarette to the pavement and putting it out under his shoe. Toby turned, his eyes on the two men. He hesitantly descended the stairs, coming to a stop beside Cameron. “Toby, this is Swagger and this is Matt. I believe you’ve met him before when we in school together,” Cameron said, gesturing to the two who nodded to Toby. 

“I think so,” Toby said, managing a smile as he shook their hands. He looked Swagger over nervously. “H-How do you know each other?” Toby asked, glancing back at Cameron. 

“We’ve worked together before,” Swagger said with a smile. He met Cameron’s gaze and winked at him while Toby’s back was turned to him. Cameron lowered his gaze to the sidewalk. Swagger held open his trench coat to reveal several handguns tucked into his pockets. "I came prepared," he said with a grin. Cameron blinked. 

“I see…” Toby said quietly. He cleared his throat. “We should...We should get going,” he said, stepping away from Cameron, walking around the car to the driver’s side. 

“Without us?” Toby stopped, turning to see a young woman flanked by the two newsies, her arms crossed. Cameron looked up at Bordie. She was dressed in tweed trousers, a matching vest and coat, a longer warmer jacket over top, a white scarf hanging around her neck. Her curls were tucked under a wide-brimmed hat adorned with a pink ribbon. 

“Who told you guys about this?" Cameron asked. He glanced at Toby who shrugged. 

"Toby told me," Bordie said, crossing her arms. "And I ran into these boys on my way. Come on, Cameron. Let us come, don’t be a bitch,” Bordie said sharply. 

"Okay, okay," Cameron said with a laugh. He wasn’t going to fight her anyway. They squished into the car, ignoring Toby’s complaints about them scuffing the leather seats. Bordie yelled at one of them for sitting too close. Mason ended up sitting in the front with Cameron, the rest of them in the back as Toby drove through the busy streets of New York. 

That chatter that filled the car as they got to know each other faded around Cameron who stared ahead. Mason glanced up at him, watching as he clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on the silver head of the cane in his hand. The tall boy took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders. 

Mr Fitz never slouched, never lowered his head, never hesitated.

He glanced down at the newsboy who stared up at him and smiled. Mason blinked. 

“What are you doing?” Mason asked quietly. 

“What are you talking about?” the tall boy asked. Mason shook his head, turning his gaze to the world that flew past the windows. 

“I never thought I’d get to ride in an automobile…” Mason said, his eyes wide with wonder. “It’s so fast!” The tall boy glanced down at him, a small smile pulling at his lips. Toby glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. 

The car finally turned onto a quiet street, the theatre on the other side of the street. Toby drove around the block and down the narrow alleyway to the stage door. 

“I don’t expect a fight...But if I’m not out in fifteen minutes, come looking for me,” the tall boy said, glancing back at them. “Stay here by the stage door. I'll come back here.” He got out of the car, closing the door sharply behind him. He tucked his left hand into his long black coat pocket, his right clutching the silver handle of his cane tightly as he walked down the alley to the front of the theatre. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing Toby watching him closely through the front window of the black Ford. 

He turned the corner, disappearing around the corner. 

The box office was empty. The tall boy glanced around the street before pushing open the door to the theatre. A rush of warm air floated around him as he stepped inside. The lobby was carpeted with a fine red carpet. Stairs spiralled up to the balcony. Posters of the wicked ladies covered the golden walls. The sweet sound of music and laughter floated from the doors to the theatre. He slowly made his way across the carpeted floor, pushing one of the doors open enough to see inside. 

Tables covered with red velvet filled the theatre, glowing black candles adorning the centre of each one. The chandeliers twinkled. On the stage, a few performers rehearse, their sparkling shoes clicking on the polished stage. He watched them for a few moments. They didn’t seem like the kind of people who would rig up a grenade in his apartment but he supposed that anything was possible. The performers danced across the stage, their laughter echoing over the music, their short, revealing costumes sparkling in the light. He watched them. He couldn’t take his eyes off of them. He found himself stepping into the theatre, the door closing behind him. When the music finally ended, he felt as though he had been released from a trance. 

“Hey! The show doesn’t start for another few hours, mister!” one of the performers on the stage called out. The other girls giggled. 

“O-Oh...Well, I was actually hoping if I could ask you ladies a few questions. I am a reporter and I’d love to do a piece on your show!” he said, a bashful smile on his face. The girls glanced at each other. 

“What’s your name?” another asked as she stepped down from the stage, her blood red costume sparkling in the light. She walked towards him, hands on her hips. He smiled. 

“Mr Fitz,” he said, reaching for her black-gloved hand and giving it a kiss. Her eyes widened. She glanced over her shoulder at the other girls who stared at the tall boy in shock. 

“M-Mr Fitz!” the girl said, her tone full of excitement. “You want to write about us? Why?’ 

“I think your show is everything one of my columns is looking for. It’s sexy, it’s alluring, it’s scandalous, it’s full of beauty…” he said softly, his eyes locked on hers. Her cheeks turned a soft shade of red as she smiled brightly. 

“Thank you, Mr Fitz, sir…” she said. “We’d love it if you wrote about our little show. How can we help you?” 

“I have a few questions...but I’d love a backstage tour. I am fairly new to the theatre world and I’d to see how it all works,” he said, looking down at her with a soft smile. “Do you think you could give me a tour?” 

“Of course!” one of the girls on the stage called out excitedly. He smiled brightly. 

“Oh thank you so much!” he said excitedly as the girl in red took his hand and lead him to the stage. The girls gathered around him, all talking loudly. 

“I love your story about the Milk Murder! It was such a strange story!” 

“Did that couple really get divorced? I think they could have worked something out!” 

“Are you really thinking of doing a piece on our show for your next column! Did someone write you a letter about it?” 

“I heard about something going on with our director! I heard he collects pig heads!” 

“Don’t say that…” the girl in red said sharply to the young woman who had said that, glancing at the tall boy who pretended not to hear. The young woman lowered her gaze. 

The tall boy was guided through the red curtains. They passed a costume rack where one of the girls grabbed a large red feather boa, draping it around his shoulders with a laugh. The red feathers tickled his cheeks. 

The girls talked excitedly about the show, their loud voices filling the backstage hallway lined with doors to dressing rooms. One of the doors suddenly opened. 

A tall woman with silvery blonde hair held back with a glittering headband stepped into the hall. She was dressed in a tight, sheer gown cut with a deep V neckline, embroidered with silver, large batwing sleeves billowing with each movement. Around her neck was a necklace made of blood red rubies. “What’s going on?” she demanded, her red lips glinting in the dim light. 

“Kelly this is Mr Fitz! The famous journalist! He wants to do a column on our show!” the girl in red said, glancing nervously from the silver-haired woman to the tall boy. 

“Really?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. “You want to write about our show?” 

“Yes...I think it’s perfect for one of my columns,” he said with a smile, looking her over. She didn’t blush under his gaze. “I have a few questions about the show…” 

“I’ll answer your questions, Mr Fitz,” Kelly said sharply. He blinked then smiled. She motioned for him to follow her back into the dressing room. The other girls tried to follow but she closed the door behind him before any of them could step inside. “You look sweet with that boa,” she smiled, taking a seat in her chair. He let out a small laugh, glancing at the boa draped around his neck. 

“Do you think it’s not too late for me to be a dancer?” he said with a laugh. 

“You certainly have the legs for it,” she said, looking him over. He felt his cheeks heat up under her sharp gaze. “What can I help you with, Mr Fitz?” 

“I just have a few questions,” he said, reaching into his coat for his notebook and pen. He leaned his cane against the table.  “To start, where did the name ‘Devil’s Follies’ come from?” 

“Our director wanted something a bit more...risque. Something that made people think of temptations,” she said, reaching for her fan on the table. He glanced down at the table. It was covered with brushes and makeup. On a silver plate were cut pomegranates, the red juice oozing onto the silver. Tucked into the frame of the mirror were photographs. One of them was of a tall young man with severe, bright eyes. He glanced back down to the table. Half hidden under a newspaper, he could see the golden handle of a knife. He swallowed nervously. 

“Temptations...I see. Like Eve or Lilith?” 

“Exactly," she said, snapping the fan open. “There is something that everyone is tempted by...What tempts you, Mr Fitz?” She smiled. He glanced down at his notebook, the memory of Smitty’s lips against his flashing through his mind. He cleared his throat. 

“I saw your ad in the newspaper...I noticed that in the ‘o’ is a symbol,” he said. She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing. “I did some research. It’s a symbol for a demonic creature. The Leviathan. Do you know anything about that?” 

“No...I didn’t design the thing, Mr Fitz. You’d have to talk to our director,” she said, her gaze locked on him. 

"And where is he?” 

“Out,” she said pointedly. He glanced back down at his notepad, making a note. 

“Have you noticed lately that young women have been disappearing and found killed in...ritualistic ways?” 

“Excuse me?” Kelly stood up, setting her fan down on the table. 

“And that the symbol found in the ad for your show is connected with those killings?” he continued. Her hand drifted towards the knife on the table. 

“Are you accusing me of murder, Mr Fitz?” 

“No...I am simply asking if you are aware.” 

“I think we’re done,” she said, her fingers curling around the handle of the knife. 

“Why? What do you care about some gossip columnist? What could I possibly do, Miss Kelly?” he taunted dangerously. His facade was cracking, his anger over the trap set in in his own home spilling out. His letters from his mother, his photos of home, his work, his home, all of it was gone, burned to ash. Rage bubbled in his chest. 

“I think you should go...Mr Fitz…” she spat the name out, her eyes locked onto him. “We have nothing to do with those murders. We may be scandalous but we are not Satanists.” He didn’t move, his hand clutching his pen tightly. 

“That symbol is no coincidence...What about your director, hmm? I heard he collects pig heads...Perhaps I should go chat with him...All I need is a few choice words and I can tear this whole place down around you,” he threatened. “Or you can tell me what the connection is and I’ll favour you.” 

“Favour me?” she laughed. “I don’t know where you got this information, Mr Fitz, but you’ve got it all wrong. There is no connection. There are no pig heads. We are just some showgirls and you are just a whore for fame. You’ll spin any story if it makes you famous.” She took a step towards him, the blade of her knife skimming across the top of the table. He stared down at her, his free hand reaching for his cane. “Tell me I’m wrong.” He said nothing. She smiled. She reached her left hand up to his neck, curling her fingers around the red boa. She yanked it off him, throwing it to the floor. “Get out of here.” 

He took a step towards the door, tucking his notebook and pen into his coat. 

"One more question…” 

“No.” 

“Why pomegranates?” he asked. She followed his gaze to the silver plate of pomegranates. Her shoulders fell. Her grip tightened on the knife. He watched her closely. Slowly, she turned her head back to him. She stepped past him and opened the door. 

“Goodbye, Mr Fitz,” she said sharply. He stared at her for a moment longer before walking out into the hall. He started down the hallway, hearing the click of shoes behind him. His pace quickened. He reached the red velvet curtains and stopped. He looked back. Standing at Kelly’s doorway were four men dressed in sharp black suits. They turned to look at the tall boy. One of them grinned.

His heart quickened. 

Cameron pushed the red curtain aside and hurried across the stage, jumping down to the audience. He hurried up the aisle, past the tables and their flickering candles, towards the door, not daring to look back. He pulled open the door only to have it pushed back, the handle slipping from his hand. A strong punch sent him falling back, stumbling on the small carpeted step. 

“You’re asking the wrong questions, bud,” a sharp voice said. Cameron gasped in pain, his left hand pressed against his bleeding nose, his right clutching his cane.  He looked up to see the four men standing on the stage. Scattered around the theatre were more men in black suits. They watched Cameron’s every move as he stumbled back down the aisle. 

_ I had stumbled into a hornet’s nest.  _

“And you attacking me is answering my wrong questions…” Cameron gasped, blood dripping between his fingers. “I see you!” Cameron yelled. “And I’m going to tell New York!” The man suddenly kneed him hard in the stomach, sending him falling to the red carpeted floor, the air knocked out of his lungs. He gasped loudly, struggling to breathe. His stitches screamed. He raised his wide eyes, seeing the girl and her knife standing on the stage. The blade glinted in the light. The man aimed a sharp kick to Cameron’s ribs. He let out a gasp of agony, curling into a ball. 

“Not such a big man now are you, Mr Fitz?” the man taunted. 

“G-Go to hell…” Cameron choked out. The man laughed and kicked him again. Cameron cried out in pain. He could feel blood oozing through his stitches. The boy let out a sob of pain, tears spilling down his cheeks. His golden curls fell over his forehead, escaping the hold the grease had on them. “G-God…” he sobbed. The man kicked him again. Cameron closed his eyes tightly, crying out as he rolled onto his back, his white scarf trialling across the floor. His cries filled the silent theatre. 

There was a knock at the theatre doors. 

Attention turned to the door where the knock at come from. 

Slowly, the door creaked open. 

Standing in the doorway was a short man, a gun in his hand. Behind him were five more guns, all held tight in steady hands, some of them having never held a gun before.

“Sorry...Are we uh...Are we interrupting something?” Swagger’s voice rang through the theatre. A rush of relief came over Cameron who couldn’t move from where he lay on the red carpet. 

“Who the fuck are you?” the man snapped. Swagger glanced at the others. 

“We’re Mr Fitz,” Mason said with a smile. He was holding his gun wrong but he was trying. The man’s brow furrowed. 

“Let him go,” Toby said sharply. His gaze was locked on Cameron who lay crumpled on the carpet, blood soaking through his clothes. 

“Or what huh? What is a group of silly little misfits like you gonna do?” the man taunted. The six of them glanced at each other then turned their gaze to Cameron who slowly lifted his head, looking at them with wide eyes. 

_ In that moment, we were all thinking the same thing. We all knew what to do.  _

Swagger suddenly opened fire, and the five others did the same. Bullets flew through the air as chaos erupted in the theatre. The men ducked for cover, the silver-haired girl sprinting off the stage and into cover. Cameron winced as he rolled onto his stomach, crawling under one of the tables. 

“Fuck's sake!” he cried out, his voice lost in the deafening roar of gunfire. The men shot back, the six of them taking cover behind tables and chairs. Cameron lay under the table, breathing hard. He pressed his hands against his side, feeling blood soaking through his shirt and vest. “Fuck…” he gasped. 

The tablecloth suddenly lifted. 

Cameron tensed, his hands curling into fists. 

“It's just me…” Toby said softly. “I’m gonna get you out of here, come on…” he said, reaching out to Cameron who took his hand. Cameron managed to crawl out from under the table. Bullets flew through the air. Sparks flew from Swagger’s rifle. 

_ Volley fire...Chaotic, violent, but never one hundred percent accurate.  _

“Stop!” A few gunshots continued to ring out. “Mason, fucking stop!” Swagger suddenly called out. Silence fell over the theatre. Cameron heaved for air. A few bodies lay on the carpet, blood soaking into the red threads. 

“Gonna fucking kill you, Fitz!” one of the men cried out, his voice full of pain. 

“Can you run?” Toby whispered. Cameron grit his teeth and nodded. “Get to the stage door… Come on,” Toby suddenly hauled Cameron to his feet. Toby grabbed Cameron's fallen cane as they broke into a run for the stage, leaping onto it as more bullets whizzed through the warm air. The others fired back, covering them as they ran. Swagger caught up with them, wrapping his arm around Cameron to support him as they ran. 

“Get after them! Don’t let Fitz get away!” 

They burst backstage, sprinting past the dressing rooms and confused performers. 

“Excuse us, ladies,” Bordie smiled at them, winking at some of the girls who moved quickly out of their way. 

“They are coming after us!” Matt called out as Toby reached the heavy door that opened onto the staircase down to the way out. 

“What did you do?” Jay cried. 

“I-I just asked some questions…” Cameron said, glancing back at the hallway. A bullet ricocheted off the wall, nearly hitting Matt who flinched violently. Swagger turned, firing back at the men in black. Screams from the performers filled the air. 

“Go!” Swagger yelled. He started down the stairs, his arm tight around Cameron who clutched onto him as they made their way down the cement stairs. They reached the bottom, the soldier kicking open the door. “Get in the car,” Swagger order. Cameron did as he was told, getting into the front seat. Swagger held the stage door open for the others who spilt out of the theatre and into the car. 

“Give me that…” Cameron reached for the gun in Mason’s hand as he climbed into the car, pressed against the right window by Jay, Matt and Bordie. Toby ran around the car, nearly slipping on the icy pavement to the driver’s side. “Who gave you a gun?” Cameron demanded. 

“Swagger did,” Mason said guiltily. Cameron gave him a reassuring smile.

“You did well. Let me take over from here,” Cameron said, cocking the gun. “Swagger come on!” Cameron yelled. Swagger jumped back from the door as one of the men in black burst out. He shot at Swagger but missed, the bullet hitting the door Bordie sat by. She screamed, burying her face in Matt’s shoulder. Swagger swung his rifle at the man, knocking him to the pavement as he flipping it in his hand and fired at the second man, the bullet hitting him in the chest. Blood splattered onto the brick wall, the man falling dead to the pavement. Jay and Mason stared with wide eyes. “Swagger!” Cameron screamed. 

“Toby go!” Swagger yelled as another ran out of the building. Toby glanced at Cameron then hesitantly, he stepped on the gas. Cameron's open door swung closed. Swagger shot at the man before running after the car, jumping onto the side beside Mason. 

“Fuck sakes!” Cameron found himself saying again. Toby sped up, the black car flying down the narrow street and skidding around the icy corner. Swagger let out a scream, holding onto the car as tightly as he could. Toby shifted gears, the car now speeding down the main road, dangerously weaving in between cars. Jay laughed nervously, stuck between Matt and Mason. Toby’s eyes darted between the road and his side window, looking for anyone who might be following them. Cameron held the silver gun tightly in his right hand, his eyes on the window, his heart racing. Bordie gripped the back of Cameron’s seat, her nails digging into the leather. 

“Go to the water!” Swagger called out over the roar of the wind. “I don’t think we’re being followed!” Toby nodded, swerving through traffic, taking the quickest way to the waterfront. As the adrenaline began to wear off, the pain began to set in. Cameron leaned his head back, struggling to breathe. Bordie gently stroked his golden curls. 

“You’ll be okay…” she said softly. “We’re almost there...Just breathe.” Cameron nodded. They turned the corner, the Brooklyn bridge coming into view. The car came to a stop by the water. Swagger jumped down, heaving for air. A thin railing separated them from the frigid ocean below. Cameron took a deep, shuddering breath. Swagger put his hands against his knees, bending over as he heaved for air. Silence hung over the car. A cold wind swept into the city off the ocean. Toby rolled up his window and leaned his head against the steering wheel. 

“I can’t do this anymore, Cameron…” Toby breathed. “We could have died…” 

“We didn’t,” Matt pointed out. "Look, Toby, I think that-"

“Shut up! I am not taking any comfort from someone I barely know,” Toby said, sitting up to point accusingly at him. Cameron watched Toby, a guilty nervousness building in his chest. Matt looked away. “This needs to stop. You kicked a hornet's nest, Cameron. This needs to stop. Forget this case. Move on. Do what you always do. Break hearts or whatever it is you like to spread gossip about.” 

“Toby!” Cameron sat up, staring at Toby with wide eyes, hurt written across his face. Jay and Mason glanced awkwardly at each other. Mason stared out the window at the glittering lights of Manhattan. “You know I don’t just spread gossip! I help people! I came to you with my idea of Mr Fitz and you liked it! You told me to do it!” 

“Maybe I made a mistake,” Toby said sharply. Cameron blinked back tears. Mason shivered. Snowflakes began to fall through the cold air. Cameron glanced back at the newspaper. Cameron pulled off the white scarf around his neck and handed it to Mason. 

“Here,” Cameron said softly. Mason stared at it then slowly took the white scarf, wrapping it around his neck. The soft fabric brushed against his cheeks. It smelled like Cameron’s expensive cologne. “Let's just get everyone home, Toby. Then we’ll-” 

“Guys! Guys! Toby! Drive!” Swagger’s desperate scream rang through the cold air. “Drive!” Movement out of the corner of his eye caught Cameron’s attention. He turned his head. His eyes widened. 

A large black truck was driving at full speed towards them. 

“Drive!” Cameron screamed. Toby fumbled with the keys. The engine sputtered. Screams of panic filled the car. Swagger shot at the truck. Cameron looked back at the truck. 

Through the snow, he could see the driver of the truck; a young man with raven black hair. 

The truck's heavy front bumper hit the side of the Ford. 

Glass and metal flew through the air. 

The railing shuddered and broke. 

The car began to fall towards the freezing waves. 

Cameron took a deep breath. 

The car hit the waves. 

Water flooded the car. 

The shocking cold of the water nearly paralysed Cameron. 

Cameron hit his cane against window as hard as he could, the glass starting to crack. 

Another hit and it broke. 

Cameron reached for Toby, pulling him out of the rapidly sinking car. 

There was a faint sound of a splash. 

Swagger was suddenly swimming down after the car, reaching for Bordie and the others. Blood floated through the water around Cameron’s side. He grabbed Jay’s hand and they swam for the surface. Cameron gasped as he broke the surface, his whole body numb. He looked around as the others burst through the surface. Like a parent would he counted them. Bordie and Matt started to swim for land, looking for a way out of the freezing water. Toby followed. Swagger swam after them, Jay close behind. 

“Mason!” Cameron suddenly screamed. “Mason!” He stared around the waves. “Oh god…” Cameron dove back down under the water, shedding his heavy, long black coat as he did so. 

“Cameron!” Toby yelled after him, his voice muffled by the waves. Cameron pushed himself to swim deeper and deeper, reaching the car. Mason was stuck, the white scarf around his neck trapped between the seat and the door. He struggled to get it off his neck, the white fabric pulled tight. He kicked against the door, the muffled thuds echoing through the cold water. Cameron pulled himself into the car, wrapping his arms around the drowning boy. He yanked the scarf as hard as he could, tearing the bottom of it as it finally came free from the door. Mason clung weakly onto him as Cameron pulled himself and Mason out of the broken window, swimming back up towards the surface. 

The two boys broke the surface, Cameron’s arm tight around Mason. They both gasped for air. Swagger swam towards them, reaching for Mason. The three swam to a rusting ladder, Matt helping them up. Cameron collapsed to the snow-covered pavement, his body trembling with the cold. He looked up at Mason who managed to smile at him. 

 

_ I have to stop...I’m crying again. I knew I’d cry writing this. I fear I’ll cry more the deeper I get into this story. Every time I think about what happened, I kick myself. I was so lucky this day.  _

_ We were lucky.  _

_ Why couldn’t we be lucky again?  _

_ Why didn’t I try harder when that dreadful night finally came? All the signs were there, I should have known what was coming. I kept hearing it over and over again.  _

_ “He’s going to fall…”  _

_ I was so stupid.  _

_ Why didn’t I listen to it?  _


	7. Chapter 7

_ After a long break, I feel prepared to write again. I went for a long walk along the beach, breathed in the ocean air and told Toby about what I was to write next. He told me I should leave it out but I feel like I have to be completely honest. The day we were pushed into the ocean has serious consequences and I blame some of what happened that night for what would happen barely days later.  _

_ I blame myself for all of it. _

_ I may not have actually done it but I feel responsible. I heard the warnings and I kept on. In my dreams, I saw what would happen...The buildings flyings past, the rush of air, the pavement rushing up, the ripple of the white scarf.  _

_ What I write next and everything afterwards will not be easy for me. The day we were pushed into the ocean was the day the life I knew was killed and I have been grieving it ever since.  _

_ I am embarrassed to write this part but as I said, it is a part of the story that has consequences so I must include it.  _

_ Please understand that I was so lost and upset but that doesn’t justify my actions that night. I got so swept up in lust and champagne and whatever the hell else I took that I forgot about my messy heart. I forgot about what really mattered till too late and I nearly lost everything because of it.  _

_ I know I can’t change the past...but I would give anything to change it. I would die to change it if it meant that this story I am telling you now won't end the way I know it will.  _

 

Snowflakes fell through the cold air. The sun was beginning to dip lower towards the horizon. The seven figures made their way down the cold, empty street, looking desperately for a cab that would take them home. Cameron’s teeth chattered violently, his golden curls feeling like icicles. He had been unable to retrieve his coat and cane, his suit jacket and vest not thick enough to keep the cold out. He limped awkwardly, his stitches numb. They were all shivering, arms wrapped around themselves.

Matt walked close to Swagger, their cold shoulders almost touching.

Mason stayed close to Cameron, occasionally reaching for his trembling hands, holding on to him for reassurance. 

"I won't let anything happen to you..." Cameron kept repeating. "Your mother would kill me," he added with a laugh. Mason didn't laugh. He looked up at the trembling boy, noticing how his hands shook. 

“Do this…” Mason took Cameron’s hands. He gently cupped them with his palms, taking a deep breath. He blew warm air against Cameron's shaking hands. The warmth thawed his hands for a moment. “I do it all the time in the winter when I gotta sell newspapers in the snow,” he said with a smile. Cameron smiled and thanked him. 

“Why the fuck won’t a cab stop?” Toby snarled under his breath. Cameron sighed. 

“Toby…”

“No! Don’t talk to me!” Toby whirled around to stare accusingly at the tall boy. Cameron flinched. “We could have died today because of you! Because of your stupid stubbornness! You never listen to me, Cameron! Or should I call you Mr Fitz? I don’t even recognize you anymore! You are nothing like the Cameron I grew up with! The Cameron I lo…” he stopped himself. Bordie glanced between them, not sure who to reach for. 

She had danced her way into their lives a few months after they arrived in New York and became their closest friend, showing them all the best speakeasies, places to party, introduced them to the best New York had to offer and introduced them as the next best thing. She often found herself sitting on Toby’s couch as he cried, homesick and lovesick. She found herself drinking with Cameron, just as sick as Toby. 

“Toby…” Cameron said softly. “I’m sorry…”

“No, you aren’t!” Toby screamed. “You are just going to do this again! You never listen to me! I just want you to be safe but you have a death wish! You are going to die trying, Cameron and I don’t want to be…” he trailed off again. Mason reached for Toby’s hand but he pulled it away. Mason flinched. “I-I’m sorry, Masey…” Toby said softly. “I’m okay...I’m okay, I’m fine.” 

“Toby…” Cameron said again. 

“Stop! Stop fucking saying my name,” Toby yelled. Mason stepped away from him. Toby shivered under his soaked, heavy coat. He had lost his hat, his suit ruined. “Just stop…” he breathed, looking at the odd group that stood around him. “Who the hell even are you people? What do any of you have in common with me? Huh?” 

“You know me, Toby,” Bordie said softly. “And you’ve met Matt…and...and...”

“Barely! Years ago!” Toby cried. “Someone answer me! Why the fuck should I listen to any of you? What do any of you have in common with me?” Cameron stared down at the snow, his shoulders trembling. “Answer me!” Toby screamed. Cameron could feel Bordie, Swagger and Matt staring at him. Toby followed their gaze. Toby’s shoulders fell, tears trailing down his frozen pink cheeks. “Oh...I see...I see now…” Toby choked out. 

“Toby…” Cameron said, taking a step towards him. Toby flinched back. 

“Stop saying my name!” Toby screamed. “Fuck you!” Cameron sighed. “You...You whore!” His voice echoed off the cold brick buildings. Cameron flinched at the cruel word. “You never loved me.” Cameron closed his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I knew you always smelled like someone else when you came crawling back to me...I should have recognized the stench,” Toby sneered at Swagger and Matt. “I know we said we’d be open...but I didn’t think you’d be like this. And then you think its okay to bring us all together and expect us to work together? You make me sick!” 

“Toby, please…” Bordie said softly. “It’s not like that.” 

“Then what is it like?” 

No one could answer him. 

“I-I’ll be good, Toby,” Cameron stuttered. “From here on, I’ll quit this case...I’ll-“

“You’ll be ‘good’? Go to hell!” Toby yelled, tears streaming down his face. He shook his head. “I never want to see you again.” 

“Toby, please!” Cameron cried, reaching for him. “Toby!” The shorter boy viciously hit his hands away. Cameron crumpled to the cold snow as Toby turned on his heel, walking as fast as he could down the sidewalk, desperate to get away from Cameron. “I-I’ll be good…” Cameron sobbed, tears spilling down his cheeks as he sobbed. Bordie rubbed his back. “I-I’m sorry…” 

“Jesus…” Swagger sighed, glancing at Matt who couldn’t say anything. Mason knelt down beside Cameron, rubbing his shoulder. Jay watched Toby hurry down the street and disappear around the corner. “I need a drink,” Swagger said quietly. His dark gaze landed on Cameron who pressed his forehead against the cold snow, heaving for air. His stitches screamed with pain. Swagger stepped towards the crying boy. He nudged Bordie and Mason aside, wrapping his arms around Cameron. The short soldier hauled Cameron to his feet. “Let me get you a drink,” Swagger said, brushing the snow off Cameron’s shoulders. “Okay? Sound good?” Cameron nodded. “Let's get warm,” Swagger said, keeping his arm around the shaking boy as they started down the street. “You’ll be okay…” 

“S-Swagger?” Cameron stammered. 

“Yeah?” 

“Am I horrible person?” Cameron choked out. Swagger looked up at him. He reached up to his soft face, brushing a strand of golden hair out of his eyes. 

“You are a person,” Swagger finally said. 

 

_ I am still trying to understand what Swagger meant when he said that. I am a person...A person who makes mistakes...A person who makes people happy...A person who tries their best. I don’t think I can put down into words what Swagger meant. I’ll leave it to you my dear reader to think about.  _

_ I should have thought about it at the time.  _

_ I should have done a lot of things differently that night.  _

_ I should have gotten a hotel and gone to bed. I should have gone to Toby and beg him to forgive me. I should have packed whatever I had left and just gone home to New Zealand.  _

_ But I didn’t do those things.  _

_ After finally getting to Bordie’s home and warming up by the fire, she suggested that we go to a party. I was hesitant at first and I should have listened to my hesitating thoughts but my heart hurt so badly and I wanted to make it stop. _

_ I wanted to numb the pain.  _

_ So we made a stop at Matt’s home to get dressed up and we went to a party.  _

 

Music spilt out of the large front doors of the palace like mansion. The driveway was filled with automobiles, characters of all kinds spilling out of their leather interiors. Their laughs and hollers echoed through the night. They hurried into the sprawling mansion, the music getting louder the deeper they went. The long hall opened onto a grand ballroom; a roaring band playing at the far end. Tall glass doors opened onto the backyard, the glittering city across the water visible through the tall trees, a garden of white rose bushes dead and covered with snow sprawled across the property in a winding maze. 

Inside, dancers flew across the polished floor, their glittering clothes sparkling in the bright light. Great chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling on golden chains. Liquor flowed at the bar. A tower of champagne glasses stood in the middle of the bar, bubbling champagne spilling down the glasses and foaming on the bar top. A winding staircase at the far end of the room headed up to the second floor, promising vast rooms and places to hide. The band’s trumpets and saxophones crooned, the band’s singer gripping the silver microphone tightly as he sang with all his heart. 

Cameron took in all the glitter and glamour, the music thudding in his chest. Dressed in a crisp black suit, a glittering tie pin visible above his vest, the tall boy glinted in the warm light, his golden curls a halo framing his soft face. 

“Come on,” Bordie said with a smile, her white-gloved hand taking his. She dripped with jewels, her long glittering dress catching the attention of partygoers around them. “I want to dance!” She pulled Cameron through the crowd and onto the dance floor. Cameron smiled, letting her gently pull him onto the dance floor; his doctor hadn't said anything about dancing during his recovery. Swagger and Matt made their way to the bar, watching Cameron with amused smiles as he awkwardly danced. 

_ I never did master the Charleston. _

Mason and Jay stared with wide eyes around the ballroom. Neither of them had ever seen so much money, so much glamour in one place. 

Cameron laughed as Bordie took his hands in hers, spinning the two of them around. 

The music swelled. 

The chandeliers sparkled brightly.

His heart felt a little bit number. 

He smiled, holding onto Bordie’s satin covered hands tightly as they danced across the floor. She giggled, her jewel covered pink dress swirling around her. 

At the bar, Mason and Jay sneakily took glasses of champagne, their noses filled with bubbles. They giggled at the bubbly sensation, the sweet taste fueling their giddiness. Mason looked up at the twinkling chandelier, the white diamonds dancing in the warm glow. 

“Bordie!” A voice called over the music. She turned, seeing a group of girls who smiled brightly at her as they made their way across the floor. 

“Who is this tall gentleman?” One of them asked, hungrily looking Cameron over. 

“This is Mr Fitz…” Bordie said with a sly smile. The girls gasped. They stared up at him with wide eyes. 

“Really?” 

“The one and only,” Bordie said. Cameron smiled awkwardly. One of the girls insisted that he sign her address book. He signed the front cover while another placed her gloved hand on his arm, watching him closely. He awkwardly pulled himself away from her grasp. 

“Oh, Bordie...Have you tried this yet?” One of the girls reached into her purse, pulling out a little gold capsule. Inside was a white powder. “One sniff of this stuff and you’ll have the best night possible!” Bordie raised an eyebrow, glancing at Cameron. 

“I don’t know…” Bordie said with a nervous giggle. 

“I’ll try it,” Cameron said without thinking. The girl smiled. She placed a bit of it onto her finger, the white powder a stark line on the black of her glove and held it up to Cameron’s nose. He glanced down at her before pressing her finger against his nostrils, taking a deep breath. He had never felt anything like it before, a kind of wild buzzing that started in his head and began to spread throughout his body. He laughed loudly. 

“Give me some!” Bordie said excitedly. The girl laughed. Cameron watched Bordie take the drug, watching the way she let out a cry at the energy that seemed to ignite in her. 

“I got it from a doctor in Manhattan. You won’t even want to drink the champagne!” the girl said excitedly. Cameron found himself laughing again. 

His heart felt a little bit number.

“Fuck that! I still want a drink! Come on, Fitzy…” Bordie took Cameron’s arm, pulling him once more through the crowd, this time towards the bar. He giggled the whole way there. They took a glass of champagne each and took sips of the bubbling alcohol, giggles escaping their lips. 

The music swelled. 

Cameron set his glass down, his head rolling to side as he danced by the bar. Swagger watched him, a smile pulling on his lips as his dark eyes drank him in. A few golden curls escaped the grease that held them back. They fell over his forehead, shimming like the diamonds dangling from the chandeliers. 

_ The girl was right. I had barely had one drink but with that drug, I felt like I was flying. I wanted to dance. I wanted to fly.  _

Cameron’s arms spread as he spun around under the glittering chandelier. He laughed. 

The song came to an end but the band didn’t let the silence settle in. They went right into the next song, music roaring through the ballroom. They played long into the night, the moon rising higher into the night sky, the stars twinkling through the dark. Cameron lost track of time, dancing through the crowd, laughing at things that weren't that funny and letting Bordie cover his cheek with lipstick-stained kisses. 

As it neared midnight, the band started a slower song but it still burst with energy. An arm snaked around Cameron’s waist and he found himself once more being guided to the dance floor. 

“How are you feeling?” Swagger asked, gently slow dancing Cameron around the dance floor. 

“Good… I feel good,” the tall boy nodded. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes…” Cameron said, his grip on Swagger’s arms tightening. Swagger meet his gaze, a smile pulling at his lips. The shorter boy moved onto his tiptoes, his warm breath brushing against Cameron's neck. 

“Do you want to go upstairs?” Swagger whispered in his ear. Cameron looked down at him and nodded. Swagger smiled and took his hand and led him once more through the crowd, this time towards the winding stairs. 

From the bar, Matt watched them.

He finished his drink and set his empty glass down on the bar top. 

Upstairs, Swagger held Cameron’s hand tightly as he searched for an empty room. He finally found an empty sitting room, the carpet a deep red velvet, the furniture a matching red velvet. Shelves of leather-bound books lined the walls. A tall window looked out onto the rose garden and the city beyond. Swagger pulled Cameron inside and closed the door. Cameron wrapped his arm around the soldier, pulling him into a heated kiss. Swagger fell back onto one of the red velvet couches, pulling the tall boy on top of him. “You promised me you’d give me something in return for my help…” Swagger smiled. Cameron looked down at him, his heart beating fast.

“Did I?” Cameron smiled. Swagger nodded. Cameron straddled him, pressing a kiss against his jaw. His teeth nipped gently at his skin as he trailed kisses down to his throat. The soldier’s hands trailed up and down his sides before slithering under his coat and pulling it off. He tossed the expensive borrowed coat to the red-carpeted floor before continuing his mission of freeing Cameron from his tight clothes. His fingers trailed against Cameron’s throat as he moved back up to kiss him, biting his lip with a cheeky smile. 

“Don’t be a tease…” Swagger murmured against Cameron’s lips. 

“I like it when you get frustrated…” Cameron said softly. Swagger narrowed his eyes. “But maybe I’ll leave the teasing for later…” Swagger rolled his eyes and pulled Cameron into a kiss. 

He tasted like champagne and cigarettes. 

The door clicked, light spilling into the room as it opened. 

Cameron broke away, seeing Matt in the doorway. 

He reached his hand toward him as he sat up. 

Matt closed the door and sat down on the couch beside Cameron. Swagger smiled, wrapping his arms around Cameron as he pulled the tall boy back into a kiss. Cameron felt Matt’s fingers against his neck, unbuttoning his collar, pulling it open. Cameron gasped against the shorter man's lips as Matt pressed kisses against his throat, his hands sliding around his torso to his thigh, teasingly grazing his fingers over his trousers. 

A firework went off over the rose garden. 

Cameron broke away from Swagger, turning to kiss Matt. The muffled sound of music slithered under the door. Laughter echoed down the hall. Cameron curled his hand around Matt’s tie, pulling him closer. 

“You’re so beautiful…” Matt breathed, breaking away from the kiss to brush some of Cameron’s curls out of his face. Swagger’s fingers curled around Cameron’s thigh. His chest rose and fell heavily, his broken heart beating fast. Swagger turned Cameron’s face to him, kissing him. His tongue grazed against his lips. Cameron shivered. Matt’s fingers found their way to Cameron’s vest buttons, slowly unbuttoning them as he pressed himself against the tall man’s back, pressing kisses to his neck. 

Cameron pulled away from the kiss to passionately trail kisses down Swagger’s neck. He got off the couch and dropped to his knees on the red-carpeted floor where he pulled off the soldier’s belt, looking up at him through his lashes. Swagger leaned his head back on the red velvet couch, his arm around Matt who kissed at his neck and jaw, biting gently at his earlobe as Cameron unbuttoned his trousers. 

“Fuck…” Swagger moaned a few moments later, his fingers threading through Matt’s hair.

Outside, fireworks exploded into the night sky, glittering sparks of all colours showering through the air. Bordie stood in one of the tall doorways that opened out onto the garden. She stared up at the fireworks, her pupils large dark pools reflecting the glitter. She swayed back and forth to the music that flooded around her. Inside, the party raged on at a tempo no one could quite keep up with, their veins full of youth, drugs and alcohol. 

Now thoroughly drunk, Mason climbed up onto the bar top. 

He kicked one of the glasses, a shower of champagne flying through the air. Jay laughed despite his cries at Mason to get down. Mason kicked another glass off the bar top, the white scarf around his neck fluttering through the hot air. He looked up at the glittering chandelier, watching the diamonds glint in the light. 

“Mason get down!” Jay laughed, reaching for him. “You're gonna fall!” Mason ignored him. He lept off the bar and grabbed onto the chandelier, howling with laughter as he swung back and forth, diamonds glittering around him. He turned his head up to the light, smiling as he swung back and forth, his right leg stretched forward like a dancer’s. “Mason!” Jay cried, reaching up to him. Mason kicked at his hand. Jay grabbed his ankle. Mason screamed. His hands slipped from the gold painted metal. 

He began to fall. 

Mason’s chest rose and fell. 

His white scarf rippled through the air. 

The floor rushed up to meet him. 

Jay’s arms wrapped around him, saving him from falling hard onto the polished floor. Mason laughed wildly. Jay shook his head, his arms tight around Mason as the chandelier above them continued to swing back and forth. “You need to be careful,” Jay laughed. Mason shook his head, pressing his head against Jay’s shoulder. 

“I’m fine…” his words slurred together. Jay patted his back. Mason’s gaze turned to the spiralling staircase at the other end of the room. 

Fireworks exploded in the night sky, golden sparks raining down to the rose garden. 

At the other end of the ballroom, a young man dressed all in white accompanied by a taller man with frizzy white hair walked through the tall doors, taking in the glittering chandeliers and dancers. The young man in white spotted Mason and Jay by the bar. He smiled. 

Nearly an hour later, well past midnight, the party still showed no signs of stopping. On the horizon, the city glittered. The door to the study opened. Cameron adjusted his collar as he stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him. Swagger and Matt had forgotten he was there after a while and Cameron didn’t want to watch. If he listened closely with the door closed, he could hear Matt’s muffled moans through the mahogany. Cameron straightened his vest and headed for the stairs, the euphoric buzz starting to wear off. 

Cameron rubbed his lips with his sleeve. 

They felt chapped. 

Cameron stumbled towards the stairs. 

His heart hurt, the numbness gone. 

His heart felt crushed with guilt. 

“I never want to see you again…” Toby had screamed. 

Cameron’s knees suddenly gave out, sending him falling against the wall. Slowly, he crumpled down to the red carpeted floor. Tears welled up in his eyes and spilt down his cheeks. 

“No…” Cameron sobbed. “N-No...I’m so sorry…” He pressed his hands over his face. His shoulders trembled with sobs. The sound of voices coming up the stairs made him tear his hands away from his face. Slowly, he stood up as a young woman and a young man hurried up the stairs, not noticing the pain of the tall boy as he stumbled past them. He wiped his eyes as he staggered down the stairs. 

His heart hurt so much. 

His head rang with Toby’s heartbroken scream. 

_ The rumours were true about Mr Fitz...I was a heartbreaker.  _

He needed to drink more, needed to drown out the pain in his heart. He needed to feel numb again. The music swirled around him. More young couples in love ran up the stairs past him. Cameron reached the bottom of the stairs. He ran a hand through his golden curls. He took a glass of champagne off a waiter’s silver tray, taking a long drink from the bubbling alcohol. 

It dribbled down his chin. 

“You look so beautiful…” Swagger had whispered, wiping Cameron’s wet chin with his thumb. Then he had turned to Matt, seeming to forget about the golden-haired young man kneeling between his legs. 

_ None of us would remember this clearly in the morning. Swagger would have denied it if I asked him if he had forgotten about me. Either way, nothing they did could completely numb the pain in my heart.  _

Cameron finished the rest of his drink. 

A flash of white through the crowd caught his eye. Cameron looked up to see Smitty standing by the bar, his eyes on a young man with frizzy white hair beside him. Cameron stared at Smitty, watched the way he looked at the white-haired man. A spark of jealousy ignited in his chest. Cameron reached for another full of glass of champagne on the waiter's tray and headed for the tall doors that lead outside to the white rose garden. Smitty turned his head, his gaze settling on the empty spot in the crowd where Cameron had just been. 

The cold night air was a relief from the stuffy warmth inside. Snowflakes fell softly through the air. Cameron moved slowly among the rows of rose bushes that had long ago died with the first frost, kicking up the snow on the ground. Finding a cold stone bench, Cameron slumped down on it, spilling some of his champagne. He let out another sob. 

His heart hurt so much. 

Slowly, he laid down on the bench, surrounded by dead rose bushes, his champagne glass dangling from his fingers, his long legs stretched over the stone. Tears slipped down his cold cheeks. The symbols carved into the bottom of his shoes glinted in the moonlight. The sound of gentle piano notes from inside drifted over the snow. 

His heart hurt so much. 

The thought occurred to him that if he stayed out here long enough, the cold would get him. He supposed that it would be a painful death, to die of the cold. It would take a long time. 

“I want to go home…” Cameron sobbed. He hated the cold. He hated the snow. He hated the ice. He hated the cold Atlantic ocean. “I want to go home…” 

“I’d miss you if you left…” Cameron sat up quickly, the champagne glass dropping from his cold fingers. Smitty stood at the end of the stone bench, his suit as white as the snow around him. He smiled at Cameron. “May I sit with you?” 

“Y-You didn’t abandon your friend for me, did you?” Cameron sniffled, swinging his legs off the bench. Smitty smiled, sitting down beside him. 

“You mean John? Don’t worry, he can entertain himself,” Smitty said, looking Cameron over, taking in the black of his suit, the drunken flush of his cheeks and his red eyes filled with tears. 

“Y-You looked like you were pretty interested in him,” Cameron said, struggling to keep his voice steady. He stared at the trees that surrounded the large property. He had no idea who owned this grand house. He didn’t want to know. Smitty moved closer to him, his warm fingers grazing over Cameron’s cold hand on the bench. 

“I said don’t worry, Mr Fitz…” Smitty said softly. Cameron turned his head, meeting Smitty’s gaze. The young man in white smiled. “I’ve been thinking a lot about our lunch together...About you…I heard about the explosion...Are you alright?” 

“I’ll be fine…” Cameron said, glancing down at Smitty’s fingers that caressed his. 

“If you need a place to stay...my door is open,” Smitty said, his eyes on Cameron’s soft face. He licked his lips. Cameron glanced up at him and smiled. 

“I might need to take you up on that offer…” Cameron sighed. “We’ll see…” he said, turning his gaze down to the snow. 

“Have you been thinking about me?” Smitty asked. 

Cameron thought about the feeling of Smitty’s warm breath on his cheeks, of his lips grazing against his, of the statue. 

Cameron raised his head, meeting Smitty’s dark gaze. 

He nodded. 

Smitty moved closer to the taller boy. “I’ve been thinking about...about your lips...and about the way you looked at me over that table...I can’t get it out of my head...I am dying to kiss you, Mr Fitz….Please...Can I kiss you?” Smitty practically begged him. Cameron stared at him, his bright eyes taking in the heavy rise and fall of his chest, the quiver of his bottom lip and his wide eyes that drank him. 

Cameron nodded. 

Smitty placed his hands on either side of Cameron’s face. His thumb gently caressed his lips. Smitty smiled. He leaned towards him, kissing him gently at first before passion took hold of him. Smitty’s right hand trailed down his neck to his shoulder, holding onto him tightly. His left hand trailed through Cameron’s golden curls. 

A shiver ran up Cameron’s spine. 

He felt Smitty smile against his lips. 

Smitty broke away from Cameron who tried to follow him, not wanting the kiss to end but was stopped when Smitty placed a finger against his lips. “You're so cold…” Smitty said softly. “I can warm you up…” Smitty stood up. Cameron stared up at him. Smitty took Cameron’s hand, pulling him to his feet. Smitty smiled up at him. “Follow me…” he said softly.

He lead Cameron through the snow-covered gardens, past the doors that lead to the ballroom inside where the party was starting to wind down, its energy floating out of the doors and escaping into the night. Smitty led the way around the house, down a quiet path to the driveway. He stopped at a large black car, pulling open the back seat door for Cameron. He glanced around before getting into the back of the car. Smitty quickly glanced towards the front doors of the house before getting in, closing the door behind him. 

Cameron found himself lying on the leather seat, Smitty quickly crawling on top of him. He placed a finger under Cameron’s chin, pushing his head to the side so he could kiss his neck. He felt his fingers pulling at his vest buttons, pulling open his velvet waistcoat before getting to work unbuttoning his tight white shirt. His lips grazed against Cameron’s ear. “I could ravish you, Mr Fitz…” 

“C-Cameron…” he gasped, his hands sliding under Smitty’s white coat. “My name is Cameron…” Smitty sat up, his hips grinding against him. Cameron’s nails dug into the leather seat. 

“Cameron…” Smitty whispered, savouring the taste of his name on his tongue. He smiled. Cameron reached up to Smitty’s white tie, pulling him back down. Smitty bit his lip at the feeling, pressing his forehead against Cameron’s. 

“Go ahead…” Cameron said, his chest rising and falling heavily under Smitty. “Ravish me…” 

 

_ I have to stop. I can’t write about this anymore. Everything I did that night was the wrong decision and I regret it all so much. I regret my behaviour, my drunken foolishness and letting my lust rule my head.  _

_ With Smitty, I felt things I never had before. I thought of that statue in the university library and the excitement I felt at kissing it. With Smitty it was like that very statue of Dionysus had come alive and sent me in a euphoria I’d never could have imagined in the leather backseat of that Ford. I am embarrassed to write these things but I promised myself not to hide anything except for what I heard those demons whisper in my ear when I stood in the centre of that circle.  _

_ I am ashamed of what happened that night, of my actions. I would change all of it if I could. In another time, another world, I would have gone to Toby and begged him to forgive me. I would have begged him to go home with me to New Zealand.   _

_ I can’t change the past. I can’t change time. I can’t fix my mistakes.  _

_ I am stuck in the world where everything that could have gone wrong...did.  _

_ And here I sit, trying to clean up the mess with my words.  _

_ Words cannot clean blood off the pavement.  _


	8. Chapter 8

“Wakey wakey! Eggs and brekky!” Light assaulted Cameron’s eyes. He groaned, blindly reaching for the quilt that lay over him. He pulled it over his eyes, the light hurting his head. “You’ve slept for hours. Come on, get up, Cam!” The quilt was yanked off Cameron who curled into a ball. After a moment, he dared to turn his head, looking up at Bordie who stood over him, a silky fringe decorated robe over her pink nightgown. “Besides...We need to talk.” 

“About what?” Cameron groaned. 

“Toby,” Bordie threw the quilt down on Cameron before heading to the door. Cameron sighed, pulling the quilt back over his head. “If you stay in bed the coffee will go cold!” Bordie said sharply before closing the door behind her. Cameron groaned again. After a few moments, he finally forced himself to sit up. He ran a hand through his messy curls, taking in the room around him. He was in Bordie’s guest bedroom, a room he’d slept in many times before. The wallpaper was decorated with faded images of soft bouquets; pink and yellow flowers reaching up to the leaking ceiling. Lace curtains hung over the small window that looked out onto the dirty street. Soot covered the glass. The bed was old, the white paint peeling off the creaking frame. 

Gripping the edges of the mattress, Cameron silently begged the room to stop spinning. Blurry memories of the night before flashed through his head. He placed his hands over his face. 

His heart hurt. 

“Fuck…” he groaned. 

Guilt weighed his shoulders down. 

He should have gone after Toby. 

With a heavy sigh, he got up. His dress suit trousers hung loosely around his waist, the hems of his pants dragging on the floorboards. He stumbled over to the dresser where a basin full of warm water with a face cloth waited. He washed his face, steam from the warm water shimmering in the yellow morning sunlight. He glanced in the mirror, seeing the bags under his eyes and the sickly paleness of his face. He ran a damp hand through his curls but they wouldn’t be tamed by the warm water. He sighed, placing his hands over his face. He didn’t want to go downstairs, didn’t want to think about the night before and the inevitable anger he’d have to face when he crawled back to Toby.

He just wanted everything to be okay, to be normal. 

Something wet dripped onto the floor behind him. 

Cameron slowly lowered his hands from his face, his brow furrowed. A cold chill settled over the room; far colder than it had been just moments before. Cameron shivered, his shaking breath escaping his lips in warm clouds of vapour. 

The floorboards creaked. 

Cameron’s gaze focused on the small mirror in front of him where he could just barely see over his shoulder and the room behind him. 

A bloody white scarf dragged on the floorboards.

Cameron’s eyes widened with horror. 

The bloody figure staggered closer to him. 

Cameron’s heart raced in his chest, his stomach rolled violently. 

The figure reached his bloody, broken hand towards him. 

Cameron found his voice, letting out a cry of horror as he turned, falling back against the dresser. Warm water spilled over the wood and down Cameron’s bare back. 

There was nothing there.

Cameron heaved for air, looking around the old dusty room with wide eyes. “It’s an old house…” he whispered. His stomach rolled again and he gagged. 

_ I have learned the hard way that champagne makes me sick.  _

Cameron staggered towards the door, pulling it open and stumbled across the hallway into the bathroom. Downstairs, Bordie looked up at the ceiling as Cameron’s frantic footsteps crossed the hall. She sighed and took a sip of her coffee. 

The tall boy fell back onto the cold tiled floor, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “Fuck…” he groaned again. He leaned his head back against the cold tub, his eyes on the leaking ceiling. Slowly, his head turned to the side, his gaze landing on the open doorway to the guest bedroom. A glint of ruby red caught his eye. He winced as he sat up, slowly crawling across the wood floor of the hallway. He reached the doorway to the bedroom, staring down at the drop of blood on the floor. His brow furrowed. He swallowed nervously and closed his eyes. “Not real...it’s not real. Ghosts...demons..aren’t real,” he breathed. 

With that, Cameron pushed himself to his feet, grabbing his white shirt where it lay on the floor by the bed, pulling it on. As he pulled his suspenders up over his shoulders, the drop of blood on the floor soaked into the wood, disappearing from sight. 

Downstairs, the living room was warmed by a fire in the small iron stove. Mason and Jay lay in a nest of blankets by the stove, quietly snoring. Swagger’s arm dangled off the couch, his fingertips grazing Matt’s sweaty forehead, all but one of his blankets kicked off.

Cameron stepped carefully over Jay but stopped by Mason. He stared down at the sleeping boy. His cheeks were tinted a soft pink colour, his hair sticking out in all directions. Cameron smiled, a soft feeling of warmth coming over him. He knelt down beside the sleeping boy and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead before getting back up and continuing on to the kitchen. 

Bordie sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in front of her, a cigarette in a black cigarette holder between her fingers. Cameron sighed, ignoring her smirk as he got himself a cup of coffee. 

“I’m not judging you,” she said quietly so not to wake the sleeping boys in the next room. 

“Yes you are,” Cameron said with a sigh, turning to look at her. He leaned against the warm counter, his head throbbing. “I don’t want to talk about it, Bordie.” 

“You need to talk to Toby,” she said sharply. 

“He said that we were open…” Cameron said, knowing that wasn’t an excuse. He stared down at the coffee. “That meant...That meant there wouldn’t be strings attached.”

“There are though! He loves you, Cam!” Bordie’s voice rose. She sighed, glancing at the door to the living room. Cameron took a sip from his coffee, his free hand curling into a fist. “You run around, crawling into the bed of anyone who will have you because you don’t want to be alone. You are scared of being alone. I see you, Cameron. Tell me I’m wrong.” Cameron said nothing, taking another sip of coffee. “You can’t live like this. You have to talk to Toby...He makes you happy, I can see that. I see the way he looks at you and the way you look at him. Don’t lose it because you can be a selfish cunt sometimes.” 

“Bordie,” Cameron finally snapped, setting his mug down on the counter. 

“I'm saying this because I want to take care of my boys!" she said, gesturing to the entrance to the living room. " I want you to be happy. You know I'm right about this, Cam. Tell me I’m wrong,” she repeated. Cameron stared down at the floor, gripping the counter tightly. “If you can’t say it...write it. Write Toby a letter. You are good with words like that.” 

“He won’t read it,” Cameron sighed, shaking his head. 

“How do you know?” Bordie said sharply. Cameron blinked. 

Wasn’t the answer to that question obvious? 

“He hates me, Bordie!”

“He doesn’t! I know he doesn’t! Bordie said, her voice rising again. On the couch in the living room, Swagger shifted in his sleep. 

“Don’t you dare claim that you know Toby better than I do!” Cameron suddenly stepped towards her. Bordie got to her feet, her butter knife clutched tightly in her hand. The strawberry jam still clinging to the warm metal glinted in the morning light. Cameron glanced down at the knife then back up at her. He stepped away from her, feeling the counter against his back. “I’m sorry…” 

“You better be,” Bordie snarled. Cameron held his hands up in surrender. 

“I’m sorry,” he said again. Silence blanketed the small house. Cameron started towards the door to the living room. Bordie watched him. 

“Your heart is a mess, Mr Fitz,” Bordie said. “Clean it up.” Cameron turned away from her, walking into the living room. 

“C-Cam?” Swagger called out groggily as the tall boy stormed past the couch. Cameron ignored the rum runner and hurried up the stairs, past Bordie’s pink bedroom, barely changed from when she bought the house during the war, past the study she had fashioned out of one of the smaller bedrooms she had no use for. He reached the guest bedroom, closing the door behind him. He leaned against it, feeling the wood against his fingers. 

“I could ravish you…” Smitty’s whisper floated through his head. Cameron closed his eyes. He remembered the feeling of Smitty’s lips on his neck, the pull of buttons and his gasps as his back arched against the leather seat. 

“You whore!” Toby's scream pulled him out of the fantasy. Cameron’s eyes shot open. He felt the sting of tears. They spilled down his cheeks. Cameron couldn’t stop the sobs that tore themselves from his chest. He collapsed onto the bed, pressing his face against the pillow. “I never want to see you again!” 

His heart hurt. 

He gasped and sobbed, clutching the pillow. 

He could hear laughs floating up the stairs as the boys started to get up. Not long after, the smell of pancakes and bacon followed their voices. Cameron lay still, listening to their faint voices. He couldn't pick out any of the words but he could hear their light tones, their laughs, their smiles. He closed his eyes, a cold draft sneaking in under the window frame making him shiver. 

A knock on the door made him jump. 

“Yeah?” The door opened a crack as the tall boy sat up.

“We made breakfast...If you want some,” Mason said, peering into the room. Cameron shook his head, wiping his eyes. Mason stared at him. The teenaged boy stepped into the room, stopping in front of Cameron who sat on the edge of the bed. “I don’t think you are a bad person,” he said quietly. A smile found its way onto Cameron’s tired, pale features. Mason wrapped his arms around Cameron, hugging him tightly. Cameron smiled, returning the hug. “I’m sorry Toby got so mad you…”

“I deserved it,” Cameron sighed. Mason shook his head. “I did...But I can...I can fix it,” Cameron said, letting go of Mason. The boy stepped back, looking down at the taller boy with a furrowed brow. “I can!” Cameron laughed. Mason giggled. “Go eat. And make sure you telephone your mother and let her know you're alright,” Cameron said, giving Mason a playful shove towards the door. 

“I will,” Mason said. He left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Cameron sighed, glancing at the window. Outside, snow fell gently over the old neighbourhood. 

Cameron pushed himself off the desk, walking over to the desk by the window. Bordie had an old stationery on the desk. Cameron fumbled in the pockets of his coat hanging on the chair, finding his pen. He sat down at the desk, tapping the pen against the old wood. He stared at the blank page. For once the right words couldn’t find him. 

He closed his eyes. 

The memory of the salty air, the wind creating waves out of the tall grass on the hill and the soft white flowers floated through his mind. He remembered looking down at Toby laying among the white flowers, his right palm painted red, a smile on his face. Cameron could hear the distant waves and the call of the gulls. For just a moment, he could feel the warm oceanic air on his face. 

Cameron opened his eyes, staring down at the snow white page. He pulled the cap off his pen and began to write. 

 

The clock on the mantle had just finished it’s twelve quite rings when there was a knock on the front door. Bordie got up from her chair by the fire and hurried over to the door, her fringe robe flowing around her. Matt glanced up from his book. Swagger blew tobacco smoke circles. Jay and Mason looked up from their chess game they were playing on the floor. Bordie pulled open the door. Her eyes widened. She pulled her pink silk robe tighter around herself. 

“Hello, madame,” one of the two police officers standing on her front step said. 

“Officers...How can I help you?” Bordie asked, trying to hide her nervousness. 

“We are looking for a gentleman by the name of Mr Fitz. Is he here? We were told by a gentleman by the name of Toby that we might find him here,” the officer said, glancing beyond Bordie into the house. 

“Why?” Bordie asked. The officers glanced at each other. 

“We just need to speak with him,” the second officer said. Bordie stared at them. She took a deep breath. 

“Alright...I’ll get him,” she said. She turned away from the door. “All of you. Upstairs now. And Matt, get Fitz,” she ordered, careful not to use the tall boy’s real name. Swagger sighed, not wanting to move from his comfy seat on the couch. Matt bounded up the stairs. Jay and Mason carefully picked up their chess board, struggling to move it without any of the pieces tipping over. 

Cameron was startled by the knock on the door. 

He turned as the door opened, looking back at Matt. The archivist looked at the crumpled pieces of paper lying on the floor around Cameron’s chair before meeting his gaze. On the desk beside his stationary pad was the plate of pancakes that Swagger had brought up for him, now half eaten and soggy through with syrup. 

“T-There are police here…” Matt said quietly. Cameron’s eyes widened. His heart began to pound with anxiety. He set his pen down, his sentence unfinished and got up, hurrying to the door. He stepped past Matt into the hallway, nearly running into Bordie. She gripped his hands tightly, seeing the fear written across his pale face. 

“Why are they here?” Cameron gasped. 

“I don’t know...They want to speak to you… Or rather to Mr Fitz...” Bordie took a deep breath. She reached up to the back of Cameron’s neck, pulling him down to kiss his cheek reassuringly. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.” Cameron nodded. She stepped away, letting him walk towards the stairs. He took a deep breath, his back straightening. Mason watched him from around the doorframe of the small study room across from Bordie’s bedroom. Matt pushed him inside, closing the door. 

The tall boy headed down the stairs, greeting the officers with a handsome smile. Bordie stood on the steps behind him. 

“Mr Fitz?” one of the officers asked. The tall boy nodded. “We aren’t quite sure how to put this. Last night a young woman was found. She had gone missing a few days ago. Once at the station, she started asking for you and hasn’t stopped since. She won’t tell us anything else except that she needs to speak with you," he paused, glancing at Bordie. She stared back at him, making it clear that she wasn't going to leave the room. He coughed awkwardly. "It’s clear that she has been assaulted, she was found in her nightgown and her hands were all red... Pomegranates, we think,” the officer said, disturbed by what had happened. The tall boy glanced back at Bordie. “Will you come with us, sir? We understand that this is highly distressing but we must ask you some questions as well concerning this matter and if you can, you must try to speak with her.” 

“I didn’t do anything, I swear,” the tall boy said confidently. 

“We're sure you didn't do anything, Mr Fitz. Since that's the case, a few questions can’t hurt. You ask them all the time, Mr Fitz,” the second officer said, a bitterness in his tone. The tall boy bit his tongue. He took a deep breath. 

“Alright...I’ll come.” 

_ Toby would have yelled at me right in front of those officers.  _

“Let me come with you,” Bordie said, stepping down the last few steps to stand beside the tall boy. 

“Madame...I don’t-” 

“I want her to come with me,” Cameron cut the officer off. Bordie smiled. “Just...Just give me a few moments,” he said before turning to the stairs. Silence hung awkwardly over the living room. 

“Tea?” Bordie asked the officers with a smile. 

 

The black police car drove down the busy New York street, past cawing Newsboys and young college school students home for the holidays. Cameron stared out the back window at the grey landscape, watching the snowfall gently to the dirty streets. Beside him, Bordie watched the officers, her black decorative fan fluttering nervously in her tight grasp. Cameron turned his head to look at her. He placed a gentle hand in her knee. 

“Its okay,” he said softly. Bordie nodded. She closed her fan, placing it down on her lap. She wore a warm coat with a large fur collar that hid her neck, fur cuffs around her wrists. Her black boots glinted in the cold light, her warm red dress ending at her knees. Cameron, dressed all in black save for the starch white of his button up, took a deep breath, leaning back against the leather seat. A warm, thick collar of black fur cloaked his neck and shoulders. His black gloved hands curled into fists. 

“So, Mr Fitz...” the officer in front of him turned to look back at the journalist and his companion. “I get the impression that this isn’t your first brush with crime.” 

“I’ve written about crime in the city before, yes,” the tall boy nodded. 

“Are you from New York?” 

“No...” 

“How long have you been here?” 

“A few years,” the tall boy said, running a hand through his golden curls. 

“So you’ve been here long enough to figure out that crimes are not supposed to be solved by citizens.” 

“I never claimed to have solved anything,” the journalist said sharply. “I merely wrote about what happened.” 

“Some of the information you wrote about was supposed to be kept secret from the public,” the officer said, his eyes narrowing on the tall boy. Bordie’s fan snapped open. 

“Says who?” the journalist asked as politely as he could. The officer blinked. “I’ve done nothing wrong.” 

“You terrorized the city by releasing the information of the Milk Murder-“ 

“Most people already knew about that before my column hit the stands,” the tall boy pointed out. Bordie’s fan fluttered nervously. The officer narrowed his eyes at the boy. 

“All I am saying is… be careful, Mr Fitz. Don’t go sniffing around where you aren’t welcome,” the officer said before settling back into his seat. Bordie glanced at Cameron who took a nervous breath, his shoulders tight with fear.

He wished the car would go faster. 

Bordie’s fan fluttered nervously. Cameron resisted the urge to snatch it from her hand, the wapping sound if the paper through the cold air making him grind his teeth. His heart raced, his shoulders clenched painfully with nerves. 

The car finally came to a stop out front of the old brick police station. Cameron got out of the car, holding his hand out for Bordie to hold on to as she got out of the black automobile after him. He placed his wide-brimmed hat on his head and followed the officer, Bordie's hand curled tight around his left arm. 

“This way,” the officer said, leading them up the front stone steps. 

“Are you nervous?” Bordie asked as the officer pulled open the door. 

“I’m…” Cameron took a deep breath. “I’m fine.” He pulled his hat lower over his eyes as they entered the busy lobby. A few officers stared at him as they passed. “I just want to get out of here as fast as possible,” he said softly.

"I really hope you leave the criminal world alone after this..." Bordie said softly. Cameron chuckled. 

"You sound like my editor," he said with a smile. “My editor told me to stop it after the Milk Murder with going places I shouldn’t…” Cameron added. 

“You are a damn fool!” Cameron’s editor and manager, Ryan, had yelled at him after handing him his gruesome retelling of the murder. “Do you want to get arrested? Do you want me and everyone else here to get in deep shit because of your recklessness?” Cameron had shaken his head, his eyes on the red rug on the floor of Ryan’s office. “For Christ’s sake…” Ryan rubbed his forehead. “Just...Just keep things sexy. It’s not that hard for you, you go to all the parties and the high teas. People read Mr Fitz for the sexy stuff. If you pull shit like this again...if you write something like this or if I hear about you meddling with police affairs again, you’re done, Cameron.” 

“A-Are you still going to publish that… or do I need to write something new?” Cameron had asked, looking up at Ryan through his lashes. Ryan merely sighed, throwing the pages down on his desk. 

“Can I...Can I ask you what exactly you saw, Cameron?” Ryan asked, turning to look at him. Cameron blinked. 

“What do you mean?” 

“The body...Did you see it?” Ryan asked. Cameron swallowed nervously. Images of blood mixing in a deadly concoction with the milk on the cobblestones flashed through his mind. 

“I didn’t see it,” Cameron lied. Ryan stared at him. The only sound was the constant ticking of the clock on Ryan’s desk. 

“Have a good afternoon, Cameron,” Ryan sighed. 

That Sunday, the city was buzzing with Cameron’s bloody words. 

“Here…” the officer’s wavering voice pulled the tall boy back to the present. They had stopped out front of a heavy door with bars over a small window in the door. “She’s in here...Now...I didn’t want to tell you this until you were here. You can leave now if you wish...but we fear she won’t say another word if you don’t talk to her…” 

“Just tell me…” 

“She won’t respond to her name; Abigail. She...She says that isn’t her name. Some of the other officers were whispering among themselves, saying that she’s possessed by the devil,” the officer said nervously. Cameron’s eyes widened. 

“Possessed?” Bordie gasped. Cameron stared at the officer. 

“Something terrible happened, Mr Fitz,” the officer said. “Do you have any idea why would a young woman in this state ask for you?” 

“I don’t know…” the tall boy breathed. The officer stared at him, not quite believing him. “May I speak with her now?” Cameron asked. Bordie stared up at him. The officer took a deep breath before unlocking the door. The tall boy straightened his shoulders and took his hat off. The door opened and he stepped inside. The lock clicked as the door closed behind him. 

The tall boy cleared his throat. 

Sitting on the small cot was a young woman, her long dirty hair over her face. Around her shoulders was a warm blanket. Her fingers and lips were stained red. “M-Miss? My name is Mr Fitz...I heard that you called for me?” A smile pulled at her red lips. He stood awkwardly in the centre of the small room. The buzz of the noise from outside quieted. He cleared his throat again. “I understand that you were found last night...You went missing a few days ago. Can you tell me what happened, Abigail?” 

“You know my name…” the girl said, her voice guttural and cruel. The tall boy found himself stepping back hesitantly, his back against the cold cement wall. “Don't pretend you don't. Say it…” 

“A-Abigail…” he said again quietly. She howled with laughter, throwing her head back to look up at the ceiling. Her head rolled to her right shoulder. Her eyes were dark. The tall boy stared at her. 

“Y-you found my name…in your books...Or did you forget your study session after you sinned with that archivist?” she giggled. 

“H-How…” he stopped himself, his hands shaking. He took a deep breath. “I don’t...I don’t know your name.” 

“Yes, you do… A part of you knew it all along...You heard it that night when you sat around that table with your mother...all the way across the world in New Zealand…” she smiled, revealing yellow teeth. 

“Stop,” the tall boy’s hands trembled. 

“Say my name….Cameron,” she smiled. The tall boy closed his eyes tightly, visions of flickering candlelight and his mother’s black-gloved hand holding his small hand tightly flashing through his mind. His young voice screaming from the past echoed through his ears. A dark, cruel voice just like the one that ripped itself from the throat of the girl who sat in front of him whispered its name.  

“L-Leviathan…” he whispered. She cackled. 

“Good boy...Cameron…” 

“Stop saying my name,” he said sharply. 

“I’ll say it all I want,” she snarled. 

“What do you want from me?” Cameron demanded. She smiled her red, pomegranate smile. 

“Have you read the  _ Tragical History of Doctor Faustus _ , Mr Fitz?” she asked. Cameron blinked. “Yes of course you have. Smart boy,” she smiled. “Smart boy...Smart boy tell me what happened to prideful, arrogant Doctor Faustus?” Cameron swallowed nervously. 

“H-He sold his soul...for knowledge and power. He wanted to see hell but also heaven. He wanted repentance….but also what the devil promised him. In the end...he was dragged to hell…” Cameron breathed. 

“Good boy...smart boy...You remember your readings,” she smiled. “Do not let yourself become poor Doctor Faustus...Cameron.” She stood up. Cameron flinched away from her. “What do you want? Do you really want to know what happened to Abigail? Who is involved? Or do you simply want people to know your name? Or rather, think they know your name? Do you just want people to love you every time you step into the room? Or..." she smiled viciously. "Do you just want Toby’s approval?” 

“I want to know what happened and who is involved...I want to stop them,” he said sharply. She laughed wildly. Cameron turned suddenly from her, starting towards the door. The girl suddenly slammed her right hand against the door. Cameron jumped back. 

“Mr Fitz? Is everything alright?” the officer’s voice echoed through the door. 

“Tell him that everything is fine…” the girl ordered. Her eyes looked completely black in the dim light. “Do it, Cameron.” 

“Y-Yes, sir. Just fine,” the tall boy managed to say. 

“Do you feel it?” she asked, a red smile on her pale, sickly face. Cameron said nothing, his eyes on her hand pressed against the door. Pinned against the wall he could barely breathe. She pressed her left hand suddenly against his forehead, a smear of red pomegranate juice smearing across his pale skin. “You can see us, Cameron. You can see us...Hear us. The explosion lifted the curtain...Not all the way up but just enough. You are starting to open your eyes..." her fingers dug into his skin. "You are starting to wake up." Cameron couldn't move. "Don’t be afraid of what you see… We’ve always been around you… Watching you, reaching out to you. You’ve only just begun notice…” She smiled, her fingers inching into his hair and pulling at his golden curls. Cameron closed his eyes, wincing with fear. “One way or another...I’ll have you,” her demonic laughter echoed through the small room. “Satan takes us all in the end, Mr Fitz…” she smiled up at him. She stepped away from him, freeing him from her paralysing gaze. Cameron turned to the door, pounding on it until the officer opened it. He burst out of the room, heaving for air. He pressed his sleeve against his forehead, wiping away the faint red stain before anyone could notice. 

“What did she say?” the officer asked, him and Bordie hurrying after the tall boy. Bordie grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop and face him. 

“Fitz…” Bordie said softly, seeing the pale look on his face. 

“What did she tell you?” the officer asked again. 

“Nothing...she...she rambled. Whoever kidnapped her filled her head with religious ramblings… I’m sorry I can’t be of more help,” Cameron managed to say. He put his hat back on and continued towards the door. Bordie hurried after him.

Once outside, Cameron stumbled down the steps. He stopped once he reached the sidewalk, struggling to catch his breath. 

“Cam… Cam!” Bordie caught up with him, her breath drifting into the air on clouds of vapour. “What happened? What did she really say to you?” 

“I don’t know...But she… she knew my name. She knew everything. About New Zealand and Toby and somehow about Matt...These people must be following me...” 

“You’re paranoid.”

“Tell me another explanation for how the fuck she knew everything about me?” Cameron snapped. Bordie stared up at him. Cameron ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry…”

“For what?”

“For involving you all in this… I never should have taken on the case… Toby was right. He always is!” Cameron’s heart raced. “Go home… Tell everyone to go home. Don’t… Don’t talk to me or come find me…” 

“Cameron! You can’t just separate yourself like this! You’ll be killed!” Bordie cried. 

“Better me than all of you,” Cameron said, his eyes stinging with tears. 

“No… No, don’t say that,” Bordie reached for the tall boy, pulling him into a hug. He leaned his head on her shoulder. “We need you as much as you need us… We’re a group… a family, remember? We’re Mr Fitz…” she laughed, remembering Mason’s dramatic voice in the theatre. Cameron smiled sadly. He stepped away from her. 

“I’m sorry…” he wiped his eyes. “But I have to get away from you all until this blows over. I promise I’ll be okay. Now go home,” Cameron said softly. Bordie held onto his hand for a moment longer before turning away, starting down the street. Cameron took a deep breath before heading in the opposite direction.

 

_ I was terrified.  _

_ Still, to this day, I don’t understand much of what Abigail… Or what she claimed to be, told me. A part of it I’d come to understand more after all of this mess but to explain it now just wouldn’t make sense without what happened in the twenty-four hours after this meeting.  _

_ It was the worst twenty-four hours of my life.  _

_ I am haunted by those hours.  _

_ After leaving Bordie, I wandered through the city. I walked along her busy streets, watched her people and breathed in the cold, dirty air that blanketed her. I am not sure if this cult and what they believe in is really real or just the bizarre nature of humanity but I couldn’t and still can’t decide what was worse. She or… the demon she claimed to be told me she’d have me one way or another. I found myself looking over my shoulder for anyone who might be following me. I looked for the men in the black suits who had been at the theatre, for anyone who so much as looked at me for longer than necessary warranted for a passing stranger. I even looked for Kelly or any of her girls.  _

_ I looked for the devil.  _

_ Never before had New York seemed so terrifying to me.  _

_ Everything Abigail...or the Leviathan told me, only I or Toby or Matt could know those things. I’ve never even told Toby about the seance when I was a boy. How could she have known those things? How could she have known about what I did with Matt? Unless someone saw us but no one else was in the library that night.  _

_ I never believed in these things before...not completely. Now… I didn’t know what to believe. I was starting to see things… my dreams, the bloody thing I saw in Bordie’s guest bedroom… What exactly was I waking up to? What curtain had been lifted?  _

_ I wanted to scream.  _

_ What was happening to me?  _

_ Scared and paranoid and against my better judgement, my tired feet carried me to the rich neighbourhood lined with brownstones. I stumbled up the stone steps and knocked desperately at the door.  _

 

“Toby!” Cameron’s breaking voice echoed through the dying light. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand before knocking again. “Toby! Please!” A shadow passed on the other side of the curtains in the front window. “I’m sorry… I’m scared, Toby. Please! Please let me in! I just want to talk then I'll be on my way again...” The shadow in the window stood still. Cameron pressed his forehead against the cold door. “Let me in…” Tears slipped down Cameron’s cheeks. Cold snowflakes fluttered through the air, landing on Cameron’s black fur-clad shoulders. The shadow stepped away from the window, disappearing into the warm house. Cameron hit his gloved fist against the door. “Toby!” He called out again. He received no answer. 

Cameron stepped away from the door, looking up at the second-floor windows. Warm light spilled through the glass. “Toby!” He called out one more time. He sighed, turning away from the brownstone. Snowflakes floated through the cold air around him. The tall boy descended the icy stairs and started down the street, his hands stuffed into his pockets. 

He needed a drink. 

He walked through the quiet neighbourhood, eventually finding himself on a busy street. The warm glittering lights above the door to a speakeasy beckoned him. He descended the stairs and stepped inside, music and laughter embracing him shallow love. Sitting down at the bar, he ordered a whiskey. The bartender set the crystal down in front of him and poured in the amber alcohol. Cameron thanked him and taking a sip of the biting alcohol. 

It stung his throat. 

The speakeasy roared around him. Women laughed and men cheered and howled. Music soared, drinks were poured. 

In the centre of it all, Cameron was alone. 

Completely and utterly alone. 

He stared down at the wood bar top. 

_ I remember reading in a book once the feeling of being within and without. I was starting to understand what those words meant.  _

Cameron finished his drink. 

He stuck his hand into his inside coat pocket for his wallet and notebook. 

A small piece of paper brushed against his fingertips. 

Frowning, he pulled it out of his pocket. He unfolded the small square. Written in a neat hand was an address and the words “come see me”. 

It was signed by Smitty. 

Cameron realized that he must have slipped it into his coat pocket in the back seat of that car. He stared at the dark, inky words. He glanced around the bar. He knew he should rent a room for the next little while and lie low but the alcohol that warmed his chest told him he didn’t have to pay for a nice warm bed. His gaze settled back on the small piece of paper between his fingers. 

He stared at the neat hand. 

It looked familiar. 

_ Your admirer…  _

Cameron folded the note back up, stuffing it into his pocket. He paid the bartender before grabbing his hat, heading for the door. 

 

The moonlight washed the sprawling city with a silver glow. The cab bumped down the narrow, quiet street. Old apartment buildings lined the road. Cameron stared up at the old brick walls and the sooty windows. An odd sense of deja vu settled over him. 

Where had he seen these walls, this street, before? 

The cab came to a stop. 

“Here we are, sir,” the cabbie said. 

“Thanks,” Cameron said, paying him. He got out of the cab and hurried up the steps. He pushed open the front door, finding himself in the apartment’s lobby. The smell of burning food and mothballs hung in the musty air. Cameron started up the creaking wooden stairs. He reached the fifth floor. The hallway was dark. He found himself glancing over his shoulder nervously as he walked down the hall. He stopped at the last door on the left.

He knocked. 

He took his hat off, running his hand through his curls. 

_ I can’t tell you exactly why I went there… All I can tell you is what happened. If I could take it all back and do it over again…. I would have gotten a hotel room and wouldn’t have left it till this had all blown over. Instead, I went to Smitty’s home. _

A flash of glass in the dim light caught his eye. 

Cameron glanced down at the floor. 

Three empty milk bottles stood by the door. 

_ I was meant to go there.  _

The lock clicked and the door opened. Smitty smiled up at Cameron. 

“You found me,” Smitty said softly. Cameron nodded. 

“C-Can I come in?” Cameron asked. Smitty reached his hand out to the journalist. Cameron smiled, taking his hand and stepped inside the warm apartment. 

Smitty glanced down the hallway, scanning the dark shadows before closing the door. 

The lock clicked. 


	9. Chapter 9

_I am scared to write about what happened on this day. About what happened to me… but most importantly and why I am writing this, what happened to someone I loved very much. I have been told by Toby and the others to not take responsibility for what happened. How can I not feel like I am to blame when I was given signs over and over again that it would happen and I was ignorant to them. One small decision on my part could have prevented it. All I had to do was tell him no, tell him to go home...But I didn’t._

_I cannot change the past._

_I can only tell you the truth about what really happened, not what you have been told by a cult of liars and murderers._

_Please, dear readers, understand that I was ignorant and blind then. Something was happening to me. I hadn’t realised yet what I was seeing. Madame Simone would help me understand after what happened but before then, I was stupid and prideful._

_Please forgive me._

 

White sunlight oozed through the thin curtains over the small window. The sunlight pressed gentle kisses to the tall boy’s face as he slept, his face pressed against the soft pillow. His golden curls glimmered in the light.

The bedroom door creaked open. Smitty set a tray with two coffee cups down on the bedside table, steam rising from the porcelain. He was dressed in cream coloured pants with a matching waistcoat, his linin sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He smiled down at the golden-haired boy sleeping in his bed. Smitty sat down beside him, pressing a kiss to his jaw to wake him. Cameron’s eyes fluttered open.

“Did you sleep well?” Smitty asked softly. “No nightmares?”

“No nightmares…” Cameron repeated.

_That was a lie. I had dreamed of falling again. He only woke me up before I could hit the pavement._

Cameron sat up, leaning against the headboard. He reached over Smitty for one of the mugs of coffee, the warm, biting scent swirling around him with the steam. He took a sip, nearly burning his tongue. He had fallen asleep in his trousers and white shirt sleeves, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest.

“You remind me of someone…” Smitty said softly, his dark eyes locked on him.

“Hmm?”

“The arrow collar man on the big billboard in times square...You look like him,” Smitty smiled. “So handsome…” Cameron took another sip of the strong coffee. “I should track down J. C Leyendecker and get him to draw you. I’d hang that beautiful portrait on my wall. It’d keep me up all night,” Smitty breathed. Cameron lowered his gaze to his coffee cup. He didn't want to look Smitty in the eye.

“What’s wrong?” Smitty had asked the night before as Cameron entered his apartment. Cameron turned to meet his gaze, feeling tears in his eyes.

“S-Something happened today…” Cameron said, starting to feel himself dissolving. Smitty stepped towards Cameron, cupping his soft face in his warm hands.

“Shh..” Smitty breathed. His dark gaze drank in Cameron’s pale features. He smiled. “Everything is alright. I’ll take care of you.” He dropped his hands from Cameron’s cheeks to his lapels. He undid the buttons and slid the heavy coat off the tall boy, folding it gently over the back of the chair. “Sit down,” Smitty ordered. Cameron did as he was told, sitting down on one of the rickety kitchen chairs. Smitty knelt down in front of him, starting to untie his shoes. He pulled one of them off. Cameron watched him turn the shoe over in his hand, his eyes on the symbols engraved on the bottom of the soles. He thought he saw a flash of recognition and amusement flash over Smitty’s face. “Where did you get these from?” Smitty said with a smile.

“They were a gift...I had nothing else to wear after the explosion,” Cameron managed to say.

“Who would have sent you such an odd thing?”

“I-I don’t know,” Cameron lied. Smitty looked up at him.

He knew he was lying.

Smitty set the shoe down on the wood floor and started to untie the left shoe.

“Do you trust me, Cameron?” Smitty asked. Cameron stared down at him. He nodded. Smitty looked up at him. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I trust you…” Cameron said quietly. Smitty smiled, moving onto his knees to place his hand on Cameron’s.

“I’ll take care of you,” Smitty said again. Cameron stared down at him. Smitty yanked off his left shoe and set it down with the other.

Cameron remained silent for the rest of the evening, finding himself unable to speak around the shorter boy who served him a simple dinner complete with a glass of milk. Cameron stared at the white liquid, only drinking it when Smitty asked him why he hadn’t touched it. Afterwards, he ran him a warm bath and told him the bed was his for the night. Sitting in the bathtub alone, staring around at the old room he found himself in, a sense of regret crept over Cameron.

His gaze lowered to the crack under the door. The light was blocked out by a shadow. Cameron listened for Smitty on the other side of the door. After a few minutes, the shadow stepped away from the door. Cameron didn’t let out a sigh of relief.

As soon as that door had opened, my intuition told me I had made a mistake. It also told me that there was no going back from it.

After that, he got out of the warm bath and dressed in his white shirt and trousers. He wondered if he could make a break for it. Opening the door, he glanced around the apartment, seeing Smitty in the bedroom, making the bed. Cameron turned away from the room, tiptoeing towards his coat hanging on the chair.

"Cameron?" Smitty called out. Cameron grit his teeth. "What are you doing?"

"I was just... I wanted to double check that I had my notebook," Cameron lied.

"I'm sure you have it. You should get your rest now," Smitty insisted. Cameron realized he had no choice. Perhaps it would be best to wait until Smitty had fallen asleep to sneak out. Reluctantly he walked back into the bedroom. He awkwardly got into the bed, his eyes on Smitty who sat down beside him.

"I want a cigarette," Cameron said. Smitty reached into his bedside drawer, pulling out a pack and a lighter. Cameron lit the cigarette, taking a shaky drag as Smitty unbuttoned his collar.

“Tell me what happened…” Smitty said softly. Cameron looked up at him. "You can trust me, Cameron," Smitty smiled. Cameron took a deep breath. Perhaps he had been wrong to mistrust him.

Smitty cared, didn't he?

So he told him everything, the letter, the symbol, the Leviathan, the Devil’s Follies and the shootout, being sent into the river and Toby’s anger, about the thing he kept seeing and Abigail’s haunting words. He managed to tell the story between drags of his cigarette, smoke swirling around him. Smitty listened in silence.

“I’m scared…” Cameron said softly.

“I can keep you safe, Cameron. So long as you stay here...Everything will be okay,” Smitty smiled.

“S-Stay here?” Cameron moved away from Smitty, confusion written across his face. “Smitty I have to solve this. I have to stop these people from killing again!” Smitty blinked. “I can’t just stay here!”

“Are you a police officer? A detective?” Smitty asked.

“N-No...but-“

“Send the officers everything you know. Let them handle it if it's that big of a problem,” Smitty said with a shrug.

“If it’s that big of a problem?” Cameron’s voice rose. “Were you not listening to me?”

“Cameron…” Smitty grabbed his hand. His grip was uncomfortably tight. The tall boy winced. Cameron resisted the urge to yank his hand from his grasp. “I didn’t mean it like that...I just meant that you are one man. You can’t take on a whole cult on your own. Let the police take care of it. No one will find you here,” Smitty said softly, reaching up to caress Cameron’s face. “You are exhausted. Get some sleep. I’ll take care of you,” Smitty said softly. Tired and scared, Cameron had reluctantly listened to him. He tried to stay awake until Smitty was asleep beside him but exhaustion caught up to him.

Now, the morning sunlight floating through the window, Cameron stared at Smitty.

He wondered if he’d let him leave now.

“I-I was thinking...Today maybe I’d go to the library again...see if I can find anything new about the Leviathan and the cult,” Cameron said.

“I thought you said you were going to lay low till this blew over,” Smitty said sharply.

“I can’t...I can’t stop thinking about it,” Cameron sighed. “I have to see this through.”

“No, you don’t. Stay here.”

“Is that an order?” Cameron’s eyes narrowed. Smitty stared back at him, holding him in his dark gaze.

“It is better for you to stay here,” Smitty said again. “At least until tomorrow. Don’t you trust me, Cameron?” Smitty asked, cocking his head to the side. The tall boy said nothing. “We’ll have a nice day here. I promise,” Smitty smiled.

His smile scared Cameron.

Smitty settled beside Cameron, leaning his head on his shoulder. “I get so lonely...I’m so happy you came,” Smitty said softly.

“What about John? Isn’t he your friend?” Cameron asked, realizing how tense he had become. Smitty sat up again, a look of frustration flashing across his face.

“John?”

“Your friend at the party the other day,” Cameron said, watching Smitty closely. “What about him? Doesn’t he keep you company?”

“Cameron please.”

“Please what?”

“You must be hungry. That explains why you are being so childish,” Smitty said. Cameron’s brow furrowed.

“I’m being childish?”

“You won’t listen to me. I know what is best for you right now. You are in over your head! I can help you,” Smitty said gently.

“You barely know me. I barely know you. For all I know...You are one of them,” Cameron hissed. Smitty laughed.

“Don’t be stupid, Cameron,” Smitty said. “If I was one of those cultists I’d have killed you already.” With that, he got up and headed towards the door. “Eggs and bacon sound good?” Cameron stared at him. Smitty didn’t wait for an answer, disappearing quickly into the dark living space. Cameron stared at the empty doorway.

_I had to get out. I should have seen it clearer before. Something was very wrong with Smitty. He wanted me to stay locked up in his apartment. I didn’t want to find out why. I had gone into that apartment trusting Smitty. Over the course of my time in that small apartment, my trust for him vanished._

Cameron quickly threw off the blanket, buttoning up his shirt. He grabbed his waistcoat off the chair by the bed, the black velvet glinting in the light as he pulled it on. He tucked his tie into his trouser's pocket.

He stared around the room.

Where were his shoes?

There was a pair by the window but they didn’t have the eyes meant to protect him on the soles. Cameron’s heart raced as he stared around the plain bedroom. He knelt down, scanning the floor around the bed. His shoes were nowhere to be seen. Where had Smitty taken his shoes? Why would he hide them?

Something under the bed caught Cameron’s eye.

He reached his hand towards it, his long fingers creeping over the top of the square object.

He pulled it out.

It was a scrapbook; old and covered with dust.

Cameron glanced at the bedroom door before slowly opening the scrapbook. Newspaper clippings from a paper in Toronto.

_Murder on Yonge Street… Body Found by Waterfront… The Milk Murderer of Toronto._

“Oh God…” Cameron stared down at the photographs under the headlines of a body cut open by a sharp blade and drenched with milk, glass shards scattered around the body from the bottle.

His hands trembled.

He turned the page.

More photos.

His stomach rolled.

He turned the page.

His own words sprawled across the page.

Dear Mr Fitz…

He turned the page.

His own face stared up at him.

The photo had been cut from his university's yearbook. Dressed smartly with his cap and gown, the younger Cameron stared out at his future self, blissfully unaware of the danger he'd find himself in.

A sour stench floated from the pages.

Cameron slowly brought his nose closer to the pages.

Sour milk.

He gagged.

“Cameron!” Smitty’s voice floated into the room. Cameron slammed the book closed, shoving it into his coat. He grabbed the pair of shoes by the window, cramming his feet into them.

He got up, pressing his back against the wall behind the door.

He struggled to breathe.

The door began to open.

The tall boy lifted his right foot and kicked the door as hard as he could. Smitty cried out as it hit him.

Cameron jumped out from behind the door, shoving him hard to the floor. He jumped over the shorter boy only to feel a hand curl around his ankle. Cameron crashed to the floor. “Don’t make this hard!” Smitty snarled, rolling onto his stomach and slowly pushed himself to his feet. Cameron winced, the air knocked from his lungs.

A few feet away from him was the fireplace; a sharp, heavy fire poker rested on the floor among the ash.

Cameron slowly pulled himself closer to the fireplace. “What’s wrong, Cameron? I told you...we were going to have a good day! Here! Not out there!” Smitty reached for Cameron’s shoulder.

As he yanked him back, Cameron’s shaking fingers curled around the fire poker.

He whirled around, slamming the side of the heavy steel tool against Smitty’s head. Smitty crashed to the floor. Cameron scrambled to his feet, running for the door. “You’re a dead man, Fitz!” Smitty screamed, blood seeping down the side of his face. Cameron threw open the door. “They are going to find you...You can’t hide from them!” Cameron glanced back at Smitty, heaving for air.

“Go to hell,” Cameron spat before sprinting down the hallway, his black coat fluttering around him. Pounding footsteps echoed through the hallway after him. Cameron didn’t look back as he ran down the stairs, skipping two at a time.

Smitty’s scream of anger echoed through the hall. “Fitz!”

Cameron heaved for air, stumbling down the last set of stairs to the bottom floor. He ran toward the front door. He reached for the handle. A gunshot crackled through the air, the bullet embedding itself in the door a foot away from Cameron’s head. He turned, seeing Smitty at the bottom of the stairs, a smoking gun in his hand. Blood oozed down the right side of his face. “They want you alive but I’ll fucking kill you now I swear to Leviathan…” Smitty snarled. Cameron’s eyes widened. He yanked open the door, slipping on the icy steps. He crashed to the cold sidewalk, a newspaper boy turning to look back at him.

“Go!” Cameron yelled at the boy. “Get out of here!” The kid turned, breaking into a run down the street. Cameron got to his feet, running across the street towards an alley. He sprinted down the narrow brick corridor, looking back to see Smitty in the middle of the street. He turned the corner, his black coat billowing around him. Another gunshot crackled through the cold air. 

“Deadman!” Smitty’s voice echoed faintly through the cold air. “You can’t hide from them! Leviathan will eat you alive!”

 

_Two things were made clear to me that morning._

_One; Smitty is the Milk Murderer. He started in Toronto then ran here and killed again._

_Two; since that killing, Smitty has joined the cult in some capacity and he was assigned with luring me in. He was the one who sent me the letter. He was the one who got me close enough to be grabbed by the Cult and they would have gotten me then if I hadn’t escaped._

_The real question is why?_

_Why did the cult want me even before I got the letter and took on the case? I was starting to realize that I am merely a pawn in a much bigger game._

_I couldn’t just keep this information to myself. I needed help._

_I had to tell someone._

_So I went to the best person I knew who could help me._

 

“Are you out of your fucking mind, Fitz?” Ryan’s voice boomed through the office.

“At this point...probably,” Cameron said from he sat in front of his editor’s desk, the crystal glass of whiskey in his hand shaking. Ryan sighed.

“This is not enough proof to warrant an investigation and arrest of Smitty. A smelly old book with some clippings in it that you found doesn’t mean anything,” Ryan said, leaning back in his chair. “And what did I fucking tell you about police work? You got yourself involved in a case that you never should have and now you are in over your head. And where is your proof of this satanic cult?”

“All the missing and dead girls. Pomegranates… Smitty! Smitty is the fucking proof!” Cameron cried, slamming his glass down on the desk.

“Watch it,” Ryan snarled. Cameron lowered his gaze, finishing his strong drink. Ryan sighed. “Look...I hired you because out of all of the applicants, you had drive. You knew what you wanted and what you wanted to write about. You were Mr Fitz before you even named yourself that.” He reached for his own glass of whiskey, taking a sip. “So you have two options. One; turn all of this into the police. Anonymously. Then get on a boat and get the fuck out of New York until this cult has forgotten about you or they are behind bars. That means that everyone you involved in this has to go too. Or two...and I really hope you don’t pick this option. You get more proof. And we publish it. You’ll probably still have to leave the city but the words and the proof will be out there. Names will be out there. Because you aren’t using your real name, I can cover for you and say that Mr Fitz is an anonymous contributor to the paper and I can’t help the police or anyone that comes looking for you.” Ryan got up from his desk, finishing his drink. “I’m gonna give you until midnight tonight to think about it. If I haven’t heard from you...I’m buying you a boat ticket to wherever I feel like sending you and you had better be on that boat.”

“O-Okay…” Cameron nodded. “Thank you, Ryan.”

“Well go on. The hell are you waiting for?” With that, Cameron got up. He pulled his long coat off the back of his chair and headed for the door. “Fitz.” He turned, looking back at  Ryan. “For the love of God choose wisely.”

 

_I found myself back out in the city. Outside of Ryan’s office, I flipped through my charred notebook I had with me in my coat pocket. I’m very thankful that it survived the explosion fairly unscathed. Majority of my notes were still fine. I could go back to the theatre or worse, go back to Smitty's apartment. I didn't want to do any of those things._

_Without the shoes with the sigils that Madame Simone had given me, I felt vulnerable; my shield was gone. With my feet hurting in Smitty’s small boots, I went in search of somewhere to sit down and think._

 

Snow fell softly through the trees. Children played in the snow, building snowmen and forts. Couples strolled arm in arm along the paths. The ice rink was alive with chatter and laughter. Sitting under a tree that during the summer would be a beautiful sight to behold but was now just a barren skeleton, Cameron watched the park. The burnt pages of his notebook in his hands twitched in the cold breeze. He stared unblinkingly at the cold world around him.

The seconds ticked by.

“You look a little lost, friend,” a voice said, startling him. He turned his head to see a young man his age sitting beside him on the bench. He was dressed in an old suit, the tails of his black suit coat draped off the edge of the bench. Around his neck, barely visible above his collar was a dark bruise. Cameron stared at him.

“I-I...I just have a problem and not a lot of time to fix it,” Cameron managed to say to the stranger. The man smiled knowingly.

“I know the feeling. They can creep up on ya… then before you know it you got a rope around your neck,” the man laughed. Cameron blinked. The man in the old suit leaned towards him. “Sometimes… the best solution is the one where you have to walk back into the devil’s den…It might cost you but it is the solution nonetheless.”

“Cameron?” A familiar voice echoed over the snow. The tall boy turned away hesitantly from the stranger to see Mason hurrying down the icy path towards him, his carrier bag empty save for one newspaper. Around his neck was the white scarf Cameron had given him. “Cameron!” Mason smiled as he reached him. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?” Cameron turned to look back at the stranger who sat on the other side of the bench.

There was no one there.

Cameron stared at the empty bench beside him before lifting his gaze to look around the park. The stranger in the old suit was nowhere to be seen. Slowly, he turned back to the newspaper boy who stared at him with a look of worry and confusion. “Cameron?”

“I’m fine,” he managed to say. Mason stared at him.

“Bordie said that you wanted to leave us. Did we do something wrong?”

“No,” Cameron shook his head. He moved over on the bench, motioning for Mason to sit down beside him. The newspaper boy sat down on the cold bench, his eyes on the tall boy. “You did nothing wrong. I did. I shouldn’t have involved you all in this. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” Mason said. Cameron sighed, pulling him into a hug.

“I’ll be okay,” Cameron said. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Mason’s black cap and moved away from him, his eyes on the park in front of him. “Back to the devil’s den…” he breathed. Mason’s brow furrowed. “The theatre,” Cameron got up, tucking his book into his coat pocket. “I have to go, Mason. Go home, okay?”

“No. Let me come with you. I can handle it, Cameron! No one thinks I can. You’re all wrong,” Mason snapped. Cameron stared down at him. “Please, Cam! Let me come with you!” The cold wind played with the white scarf around Mason’s neck. Cameron sighed. “Please!”

_Go home, Mason..._

“Alright,” Cameron said. “But you gotta listen to me. If I tell you to do anything, you do it. Got it?”

“I got it,” Mason said with a smile.

 

The cab rattled to a stop out front of the dark theatre. The sun inched closer towards the horizon. The two boys got out of the cab, hurrying across the icy street to the front doors only to find them locked.

“Maybe that's a sign to just leave this place alone,” Mason muttered.

“We’ll try the stage door,” Cameron said, ignoring the newsboy’s comment. Mason glanced nervously around the quiet street, the cab now gone. He took a deep breath before following Cameron around the block. They reached the stage door, finding it locked too. Mason stared at the red stain on the wall by the door. He remembered watching Swagger shoot the man that wanted to stop them, the violence with which the blood splattered onto the bricks. Cameron pulled at the stage door only to find it locked too. He looked around, his breath floating in warm clouds of vapour around him.

“The fire escape,” Mason said, pointing to the metal ladder hanging from the frozen staircase a story above them.

“Good idea,” Cameron gave him a smile. He stepped over to the ladder, jumping up to grab the bottom rung. He pulled it down, the metal screeching. “Do you want to wait here?” Cameron asked, his gloved hand holding on tight to the cold rung. Mason looked up at the dark fire escape. He shook his head.

“You shouldn’t do this alone,” Mason said.

“I’m glad you are here with me,” Cameron smiled. He turned away from the newspaper boy and started up the ladder. The wind pulled at his long black coat. Mason jumped onto the ladder, following Cameron up and up. The pavement below looked cold and unforgiving. Cameron headed up to the third floor, finding a window left open. He glanced back at Mason before pushing the window open further. He crawled inside, finding himself in the owner of the theatre’s office. He glanced over the papers on the desk but found nothing important. “The director… Kelly said something about him. Come on, we gotta see if he has an office up here.” Cameron stared for the door. Mason stayed close to him. He slowly pulled open the door, glancing up and down the dark hallway. Seeing no one, the two boys stared down the hall. Cameron checked the names on the doors as they passed.

“Here!” Mason whispered. Cameron turned to see a door with the word ‘director’ in black letters on the foggy window.

“Good job,” Cameron said as he stepped past Mason into the dark office. “Can you keep watch at the door?” Mason nodded. Cameron made his way over to the desk, rifling through the papers on the desk. There was a set list of the Devil’s Follies show, photographs of the performers in their sparkling costumes, a few scripts and audition portfolios. Cameron bit the inside of his lip, kneeling down to search through the drawers.

In the middle drawer, he found a book.

At first glance, there was nothing unusual about it. It was bound in leather, tied tight with leather strings. Slowly, Cameron untied the strings and opened the book.

On the first page was the symbol of the Levithan.

Cameron’s heart raced.

He slowly turned the page.

Covering the two pages were names. Some of them were crossed out. Among them was Madame Simone and Abigail. Cameron’s eyes scanned the columns of names. He recognized some of the crossed out ones.

Their bodies had been found.

On the last column on the second page was his name.

It was crossed out with red ink.

“Cam,” Mason whispered. “I hear footsteps coming this way!” Cameron closed the book, and pushed the drawer closed. He stuffed the book into his coat pocket. He reached for Mason who hurried towards him. Cameron wrapped his arm around the newspaper boy, pulling him under the desk with him.

Two pairs of footsteps approached the office.

Mason pressed his face against Cameron’s shoulder.

“Are you sure you still want to go through with this, Mr Tyler? Smitty said he got away. What if he has alerted the authorities?” a voice asked as the footsteps entered the office. Cameron placed his hand on the back of Mason’s head, holding him close. He pressed his other hand over his own mouth and nose, every breath sounding like a rush of wind. His wide eyes were locked on the desktop above them.

“He wouldn’t be able to get them on our scent. There is nothing to worry about,” a second voice said. “We never should have trusted Smitty with this job. He’s too much of a wild card. He killed one of our own six months ago, remember?”

“I do,”

“Once this done… We’ll deal with him. I’d get rid of him sooner but we have bigger fish to fry. We need to act fast. Cameron’s sight is getting clearer. I should have sent someone to finish the job while he was in the hospital,” the second voice sounded frustrated. Mason lifted his head, looking at Cameron with a confused gaze. He parted his lips to ask Cameron what he meant but the taller boy shook his head silently, mouthing “don’t say a word.”

“We aren’t scared of him, sir. He’s a gossip columnist who thinks he can run among the big news boys and his sight will never be as clear as yours. Besides, once he is gone, you’ll own the city. Levithan promised you that,” the first voice said. Cameron could hear the sultry smile in his voice.

“Abigail wasn’t enough to scare him off… “

“You don’t know that… Smitty said he was pretty shaken up when he arrived at his apartment,” the first voice said reassuringly.

“Then why did he take off with Smitty’s book? Why didn’t he trust him?”

“You don’t trust Smitty, sir.”

“We don’t have time for this. Is everything ready for tonight?” the second voice, Mr Tyler, asked.

“Yes, sir. All we need is our sacrifice,” the first voice said.

“Then go get him,” Mr Tyler said sharply.

“Yes sir,” the footsteps retreated out the door and down the hall. Cameron heaved for air, his eyes glancing at the wall behind the chair. In the light reflected on the window beyond the chair, he could see the faint reflection of the tall man standing on the other side of the desk.

In his hands was a bloody pig’s head.

Cameron’s hand over his mouth tightened, fighting back a gag. He watched the reflection closely. The man set the pig’s head down on the desk and reached into his black coat.

He pulled out a long dagger with a hilt decorated with blood red rubies glinted in the dim light from the hallway.

Cameron stared at the sharp blade.

Mason slowly turned his head to look at the window and the reflection there. His eyes widened when he saw the bloody pig head.

The man stared down at the pig head.

He suddenly raised the knife and stabbed it between its ears.

Mason couldn’t stop his cry of fear.

Cameron clamped his hand over Mason’s mouth but it was too late.

The man looked up.

He pulled the knife from the pig’s head and stormed around the desk, throwing the chair out of the way. Cameron rolled over Mason, putting himself in front of the boy. The man laughed when he saw them. Cameron raised his foot and kicked him as hard as he could in the face, throwing him down to the floor.

“Go!” Cameron yelled at Mason. “Run!” Mason pushed past Cameron and sprinted towards the door. Cameron hurried after him.

“Get them!” Mr Tyler bellowed. “Get Fitz!”

Cameron caught up to Mason. He grabbed his hand, looking over his shoulder to see a man with dark raven hair raise a gun at them. Cameron wrapped his arm around the newsboy, lifting him off his feet as he ducked around a corner. The bullet grazed off the wall, splinters of wood flying through the air.

“How do we get out of here?” Mason gasped. Cameron looked around wildly. At the end of the dark hall was a window out onto the fire escape on the other side of the building.

“This way,” Cameron said, his grip tightening on Mason’s hand. They broke into a run down the hallway.

“Come back here boys! The show is gonna start soon! Won’t wanna miss it!” a taunting voice echoed down the dark hall after them. Mason struggled to keep up with Cameron’s quick pace. They reached the window. Cameron’s leather-gloved fingers gripped the bottom of it, shoving it open with a grunt. The cold wind caught the white curtains. Cameron climbed out the window onto the metal fire escape. Icicles dangled off the cold metal. He glanced down the three floors to the unforgiving pavement below. A few men hurried out of the side door, looking up at him.

“We gotta go up,” Cameron said, turning back to Mason. He pulled the boy through the window. A bullet ricocheted off the frame, cracking the glass. Mason screamed. “I got you,” Cameron said reassuringly. “Come on,” he said, heaving for air. He struggled to hide the fear on his face from Mason. The two boys started up the narrow, steep steps, climbing higher and higher into the night sky. They reached the top of the theatre, the pavement seven stories below.

They burst out on to the roof.

Mason sprinted across the roof towards the low wall that separated the theatre’s roof from the building next door.

_The roofs were how everyone got around quickly. Everything was connected._

Mason stopped when he realized that Cameron wasn’t with him. He turned to look back at the tall boy who had stopped in the middle of the roof, his eyes wide with horror.

“What’s wrong?” Mason called out.

Cameron’s gaze slowly turned to the edge of the roof.

Mason hurried back to Cameron. “What is it? What’s wrong, Cameron?”

“I-I… I’ve seen this place before... “ Cameron breathed. Mason’s brow furrowed.

Before he could say anything, an arm snaked around Cameron’s neck, yanking him back from Mason. “Cameron!” The man with dark hair threw Cameron to the icy rooftop. He groaned in pain. The tall boy struggled to get up. The black haired man kicked his jaw hard, sending him falling onto his back. Cameron let out a cry of pain, blood oozing between his lips. “Stop it!” Mason screamed. The black haired man laughed. He kicked Cameron again. Thrown onto his side, Cameron heaved for air that had been forced from his lungs. Snow clung to his black coat and trousers. “Cam!” The tall boy slowly rolled onto his stomach, spitting blood onto the snow. He struggled to get to his feet. The black haired man let him get up.

Cameron didn’t notice the footsteps behind him coming up the fire escape as he swung his fist at the black haired man. Snowflakes fell softly over the rooftop as the two men fought, blood splattering the icy rooftop. A strong knee to his stomach sent Cameron to his knees. The black haired man grabbed his left arm, yanking it painfully behind his back.

Mason suddenly screamed.

Cameron looked up.

Standing at the edge of the roof was Mr Tyler, his leather gloved hand holding Mason’s collar tightly, choking the boy. Mason’s heel hung over the edge of the roof.

Blood oozed from Mason’s nose.

Mason’s chest rose and fell heavily.

Mr Tyler gritted his teeth and shoved Mason backwards.

Mason reached for Cameron as he fell off the roof.

“No!” Cameron screamed, pulling himself painfully from the man’s grip.

Mason’s scream echoed through the cold night air.

“No! No! Mason!” Cameron wailed, falling to his knees at the edge of the roof.

The white scarf rippled through the air.

Cameron let out a wail of agony and horror.

Blood oozed across the icy cobblestones.

"No..." Cameron gasped, gripping the edge of the roof tightly.

A hand grabbed the back of Cameron’s coat, yanking him backwards. The tall boy fell back onto the roof, tears and blood soaking his face.

“It didn't have to be this way... If only you had stayed at Smitty’s," Mr Tyler said. He raised his boot above Cameron and brought it down on his skull.

Darkness embraced him.

 

_So many things I did in those few moments were the wrong thing._

_I stopped because of the shock of seeing that rooftop. If I just kept going we could have escaped. If I had just told Mason to go home, he would still be alive._

_I lead Mason to his death. Mason is dead because of me. I saw what he saw… as he fell in my dream. I could have stopped it. Mason even found me in the past; the bloody boy I kept seeing and continue to see._

_Yet as much as I feel responsible for Mason’s death, I was not the one who pushed him._

_You see, this story was never about me._

_It is about Mason and who killed him._


	10. Chapter 10

_ What happened after Mason’s death is still unclear to me. I know I was knocked out and taken somewhere but the details of that location were told to me after the fact. What I do remember happening is so disturbing and frightening, I will never forget it. I still wake up from nightmares heaving for air and drenched in a cold sweat, thinking I’m still up on the rooftop, Death reaching her freezing hands towards me. I don't want to write about this. I don't want to remember this.  _

_ However, what I went through is proof.  _

_ Proof that these people murdered Mason and tried to murder me. They murdered many others. So I must recall these events. I must put aside my pain for them. They deserve to rest in peace. Telling the story of this night can hopefully help them rest now that justice can be served.  _

_ If you wish to skip ahead dear readers, I understand. What I am about to tell you is not for the faint of heart.  _

_ When Toby asked me about what I remembered, I found myself struggling. At first, all I could remember was the cold. I was so cold. Then, with time and distance, the memory became clearer and clearer. Things became easier to see.  _

_ I remember hearing voices. I remember hearing Mason’s scream echoing still in my ears. _

_ I remember the taste of pomegranates.  _

 

The faint sound of music and voices reached Cameron in the dark. Slowly, he opened his eyes, sitting up. He sat on the floor of a grand polished ballroom, diamonds falling like snow from the chandelier above him. He looked around the dark room, his brow furrowed with confusion. 

His gaze landed on a glowing door at the other end of the ballroom. 

Slowly, the tall boy got to his feet. Blood stained his golden curls and the collar of his white shirt. The diamonds continued to fall like snow around him, their smooth sides glinting in the dim glow. He took a shaking step toward the door. 

“Fitz,” a dark voice echoed through the dark. “Wake up, Fitz.” A numb pain began to claw at his head. He stopped in front of the door, clutching at his throbbing skull. 

_ If I stayed, it wouldn’t hurt anymore.  _

“Wake up, Fitz,” the voice called out again, angrier. 

“Cameron…” another voice called out, softer than the first. 

He knew who it was.

Tears well up in Cameron’s eyes. 

If he turned around there would be no going back. 

“Its okay,” the newspaper boy’s voice said as if reading his conflicted, pained thoughts. “Its gonna hurt… but you have to wake up. There is so much left that you still have to do. It’s okay,” Cameron could hear the smile in Mason’s voice. “I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Where is here?” Cameron wondered. 

“You gotta wake up, Cameron. Jay is gonna need you,” Mason said. 

“Jay?” 

“Wake up,” Mason said again. 

“Wake up, Fitz,” the first voice snarled. Cameron took a deep breath and gripped the marble door handle. 

He pulled the door open. 

The sound of traffic and voices reached his ears. He felt himself shiver violently, freezing air seeping through his clothes and into his skin, curling around his bones. His arms were spread like a cross, his wrists and feet tied down. 

No amount weak struggling was enough to get free. 

There was a bag over his head, the matted blood on his face making the coarse fabric stick to his cold skin. Cameron struggled to breathe, fighting against the ropes that held him down. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to control his violent heaving for air. His hands curled into fists as he pulled again at the ropes but they wouldn’t give.  He could hear the faint sound of music and people's voices, distant as if far away or down below. 

A hand grabbed the bag and pulled it off his face. 

Cameron gasped for air. 

For a moment, his gaze lingered on the wide open night sky above him. The stars twinkled like diamonds. He wondered if they would start falling like snow. He shivered again. His coat and vest had been taken from him, his thin white shirt and trousers not enough to protect him from the cold. His fingertips felt numb. 

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned his head, looking around with wide eyes. Disoriented, he tried to understand where he was and what was happening. 

Around him on the cold, bloodstained altar were melting red candles, the wax oozing dangerously close to his cold skin. Through the smoke and hazy candlelight, he could see a group of figures dressed in black. 

One of them held the bag that had been on Cameron’s hand. Slowly, he pushed his black hood off his head. 

Smitty grinned. 

Cameron pulled again at the ropes, a surge of anger rushing through him. Smitty laughed. 

“Look at you,” Smitty said. “What a fool you’ve been, Mr Fitz.”

“Go to hell!” 

“We’re almost there!” Smitty said with a wild look in his eyes. “Leviathan is going to swallow you whole… And with your energy… Your power, will break through the gate that holds her back and give us the earth.” 

“You’re insane,” Cameron spat. “I have proof. I have proof that can hang you! Here or Toronto.” 

“Big talk for someone who is going to be dead soon,” Smitty cackled. Cameron pulled again at the ropes. 

“They’ll find you! They won’t let you do this!” Cameron yelled, trying to convince himself that he would get out of this. Smitty laughed again. 

“Who is they, Fitz?” He said, suddenly grabbing the edge of the altar and leaning uncomfortably close over Cameron, their noses almost touching. “Your editor who barely believes you? That sweet girl, Bordie? Or that group of stupid misfits, one of whom is dead and another other hates your guts. The other two… Well, I don’t think they care much for you. You’ll disappear and they won’t even notice.” 

“S-Shut up…” 

“They’ll just hate you just like Toby does already once they find out about what you did to Mason,” Smitty sneered. Cameron’s brow furrowed. 

“W-What I did to Mason?” 

“You pushed him off the roof, remember?” Smitty smiled. 

“No! No! I-I didn’t!” Cameron cried. Smitty laughed. 

“You’re a fool to think you have anybody who really loves you in this world, Cameron and you will die alone. You thrived off drama and rumours and suffering. You were a whore, a homewrecker and a fear monger,” Smitty spat. “You won’t be missed.” Cameron fought back tears. Smitty’s smile wavered. “Well… Maybe I’ll miss you a little. As angry as you've made me… You are so handsome, Mr Fitz.” 

Cameron spat in Smitty’s eye. 

The boy let out a yell of anger, stumbling back from the altar. He wiped the spit from his eye, dark rage flashing across his face. He stepped back towards the altar and slapped Cameron hard across the face. The sting caused his ears to ring. Cameron gasped in pain. 

“That’s enough, Smitty,” a sharp voice rang out. Smitty gritted his jaw and turned away from Cameron. The tall boy slowly turned his head to see Mr Tyler standing among the black-robed figures. In his right hand was the sharp blade, the rubies on its handle glinting in the hazy candlelight. Cameron’s chest seized with fear. Mr Tyler smiled at the tall boy. “ I must say that I’m disappointed, Mr Fitz,” Mr Tyler said with a heavy, dramatic sigh. “Things could have been so much different. You could have joined us,” he smiled a grim, toothy smile. Cameron opened his mouth to deny it but was stopped by the cultist who pressed a cold finger to his lips. “Don’t deny it… If only someone had told you, if  you knew what I know about you, Cameron, you’d have joined us.” 

“W-What do you know about me?” Cameron whispered. Mr Tyler stared down at him, a look of strange admiration and care in his eyes. He smiled. 

“You are just like me… You can see what I see. I cannot begin to explain to you what it feels like knowing I’m not alone. Sure, there are people like Simone but they just aren’t as powerful. You, on the other hand, you’ve seen the other side. You can truly see the dead,” he said, staring down at Cameron whose brow furrowed. 

“I-I-” 

“You have seen them… I know you have,” Mr Tyler smiled. The memory of the bloody boy flashed through his head. The memory of his childhood scream followed him. 

_ So many things made sense in that moment. So many memories suddenly made sense. I remember as a boy, laying in my bed in the dark, staring at my open bedroom door, seeing the faint silhouette of a figure. I remember being terrified of the boy’s shower at my school back home in New Zealand because of a dark energy in the back corner. I remember seeing the translucent sails of a long-sunken ship on the horizon. I remember seeing so much and up until that moment I had dismissed it all, repressed it. Mr Tyler unlocked the door and it all came tumbling out. I couldn’t keep back that trauma anymore.  _

Tears slipped down Cameron’s icy cheeks. With his free hand, Mr Tyler wiped them away. “It’s alright. It scared me too. You won’t have to be afraid any longer," he said softly. He sighed. "It’s a shame that we’ll never be able to find out what makes you special.” 

“S-Special?” 

“People like you and me, we share things in common like seeing them and communicating with them, stepping into their world. But each of us has something special. A power, if you will. I can see into your head, Fitz. I see what you love, what you hate… what you fear,” Mr Tyler said with a smile. “It’s all right here,” he pressed the tip of his finger against Cameron’s forehead. “You don’t have to live like this anymore.” With that, he straightened up, his grip tightening on the blade. “Let the ritual begin.” 

“What? No! No!” Cameron cried, fighting against the ropes. “No!” His cries went unheard as the dark figures circled the cold altar, both the cold stone and the tall boy tied down to it blanketed in a thin layer of snow. A low chant began. Cameron gasped for air, panic seizing his lungs. He looked up at Mr Tyler, begging him desperately to stop them but he wouldn’t listen. 

“Your soul is going to release Leviathan!” Mr Tyler smiled. “Be grateful for this honour.” Cameron pulled again at the ropes. His chest rose and fell heavily. 

“P-Please…” he gasped frantically. The chanting became louder. Dark shadows rippled around the ankles of the robed figures, creeping closer to the altar. Cameron’s eyes widened as he watched the shadows. No one else except Mr Tyler seemed to notice them. 

“Leviathan is here,” Mr Tyler said, his voice full of glee. A robed figured handed him a silver plate of bloody pomegranates. Cameron closed his eyes tightly. He pulled desperately at the ropes that held him down. “Leviathan we offer you this soul… We offer you this energy and power. May it be worthy enough for you,” Mr Tyler’s voice echoed across the cold rooftop. Cameron felt a hand on his chin. He clenched his jaw, struggling to turn his head away from Mr Tyler. “Cameron,” Mr Tyler warned. Cameron clenched his jaw so tightly his teeth began to hurt. Hands grabbed his head and jaw. They struggled to force his mouth open. He felt the bloody red pomegranate juice ooze down the sides of his chin. They forced the fruit into his mouth, the bitter taste overwhelming him. Cameron gasped, tears spilling from his eyes. Mr Tyler and Smitty stared down at him, Latin words spilling from their mouths. The flames atop the candles seemed to grow, the hot wax oozing across the cold stone. The chanting continued, louder this time. Mr Tyler’s blade glinted in the light. 

Cameron’s hands curled into fists. 

He closed his eyes again. 

_ Someone help me.  _

The sound of frantic footfalls echoed around him. 

“Go! Go!” a familiar voice echoed off stone walls. 

“I’m going!” another voice shot back. 

The group of footsteps got closer. 

Cameron opened his eyes. 

He stood at the top of a dark staircase, dimly illuminated with melting candles. He looked down at his hands. 

They were translucent. 

The footsteps suddenly came to a stop. 

Cameron looked up. 

His wide-eyed, horrified gaze landed on a group of dark figures a few steps below him, all out of breath and huddled in the dark of the dimly lit stairwell. He stared down at them, his mouth hanging open as he tried desperately to choke out the words stuck in his throat. Their confused, wide eyes were locked on him. 

"C-Cam?" one of them choked out. 

Something grabbed onto the tall boy's torso, threatening to pull him back. 

“Help me!” he managed to yell. 

The force yanked him backwards. 

Cameron gasped loudly, his eyes opening wide.

He looked around wildly, finding himself still tied down to the altar, pomegranate juice staining his lips and chin. Toby and the others were nowhere to be seen.  Mr Tyler stared down at him, a smile pulling at his lips. 

“How fascinating…” the cultist breathed.

Smitty watched at the edge of the circle of robed figures. Over Smitty’s shoulder was a door that led inside the building. 

Cameron met his gaze. 

_ I was so desperate and terrified, I tried to beg the murderer to help me.  _

“Please…” Cameron gasped. 

Mr Tyler raised the blade.

“Please..” Tears slipped down Cameron’s cheeks. 

_ All I could think was “Please God… Anyone who will listen, please don’t let me die like this.”  _

“We welcome you, Leviathan,” Mr Tyler said. 

A loud, violent bang erupted from the door behind Smitty. 

Mr Tyler turned in time to be shot in the chest, the gunshot crackling like lightning through the cold air.  

Cameron flinched, blood splattering onto him. Mr Tyler slumped against the altar, the knife slipping from his hand. The cultists stared in shock. 

Cameron turned his head back to the door. 

Toby stood in the doorway, a smoking gun held tight in his hand. 

For just a moment, he looked exactly as he had years ago on that hill back home, the salty sea breeze pulling at his coat, his eyes dark, the gun held tight in his hand. 

“Don’t stop the ritual!” Mr Tyler managed to gasp. 

Smitty lunged towards the fallen blade. 

Gunshots erupted across the rooftop. 

Cameron flinched, closing his eyes tightly as he pulled frantically at the ropes that held him down. 

“Get Cameron!” Swagger’s voice called out through the chaos. 

Cameron opened his eyes. 

Dark shadows rippled across the rooftop. 

Toby let out a cry of anger as he kicked one of the attacking robed figures back, his black coat rippling, his blonde hair falling over his face, his eyes dark with fury. 

Cameron watched the shadows grab at Toby. 

The boy crashed to the icy surface, dragged down by a force he could not see. By the door, Bordie shot at a man in a black robe, the body crumpling to the rooftop. Matt’s black coat rippled around him as he spun out of the way of a cultist. Jay stayed close to Bordie by the door, his eyes wide with horror. His cheeks were stained with tears. A bloody cap was clutched tight in his hand. Swagger’s shotgun sent a crackling shot through the cold air, the short soldier’s teeth clenched tightly as the gun recoiled. 

Movement out of the corner of Cameron’s eye caught his attention. 

He turned his head. 

Soft snowflakes landed in his golden curls. 

Smitty stood over him, the blade held tight in his hands. 

“We welcome you, Leviathan!” Smitty screamed as he stabbed the blade into Cameron’s chest. 

Cameron’s eyes went wide. 

White hot pain shot through his body. 

Cameron let out a shocked cry of pain. He could taste blood and pomegranates. 

“Cameron!” Toby’s scream echoed through the cold night air. He grabbed his fallen gun, taking aim at Smitty. 

The gunshot crackled across the rooftop. 

Smitty cried out in shock and pain as he fell to the cement, blood splattered across the ice.  Above him, a large advertisement of Leyendecker’s Arrow Collared man glowed brightly, illuminated by a hundred golden lights. 

Toby got to his feet, sprinting across the roof, his long coat rippling through the air. His red scarf fluttered like the ribbons of a maypole. “Cameron...No, no, no,” he gasped as he reached Cameron’s side. 

Cameron choked on his own blood, his eyes filled with tears. Toby frantically united Cameron’s hands, letting out a gasping sob as he threw the ropes down. “Cameron!” Toby cried, cupping the tall boy’s face in his hands as he began to cough up blood. His pale skin was stained with blood and pomegranate juice. Cameron weakly reached up to caress Toby’s cheek, a smile pulling at his red stained lips. 

“T-Toby…” Cameron choked out. 

“It’s okay… You’ll be okay,” Toby said, holding Cameron’s hand tightly. He turned to look back at the others who watched in shock. “Fucking help me!” Matt broke into a run over to them, quickly untying the tall boy’s feet. Swagger shot at another cultist as Bordie and Jay ran towards Toby, fear written across their faces. 

“T-Toby…” Cameron repeated, coughing up more blood. He struggled to keep his eyes open; dark shadows danced in the corners of his blurry sight. 

Darkness began to swallow Toby. 

Cameron couldn't stop himself from falling deeper and deeper into the dark. 

His hand in Toby’s grasp went limp. 

“Cameron?” Toby’s voice followed Cameron down into the darkness. Blood dripped down the side of the altar. “Cameron!” 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is the last chapter of Part One for this story!! I'm so excited to start Part Two! Thank you all for the support <3

_ No, I am not writing this from beyond the grave. I am alive and as well as I can be after what Smitty did to me. That night is scarred forever into my memory. I cannot eat or even smell pomegranates without becoming physically ill now. I still have nightmares of Smitty and Mr Tyler, of those black robed figures and the dark shadows I saw, of Mason falling. Yet despite those memories, I don’t know a lot about what really happened that night. It was so disorienting and traumatic.  _

_ So I have asked Toby to write down in his own words everything that happened that night, how he saw it and what he found out.  _

_ For now, I need to take a break from this recounting.  _

_ I need some fresh air.  _

 

Toby pushed open the window, the cold air flooding into his bedroom. He could hear the New York traffic as the sun went down, the smell of smoke and thousands of dinners floating through the winter air. He stared up at the darkening sky, watching the smoke from a thousand chimneys float higher and higher into the atmosphere. He closed his eyes, listening to the rumble of the city and breathing in her frigid air. A part of him would miss this. He opened his eyes, taking one last look at the grey sky before closing the window, shutting out the cold. 

Sitting down on his bed, his gaze met Cameron’s from where he stared out of the cracked picture frame on the bedside table.

Toby had thrown the photo in his rage after his fight with Cameron. 

The glass had shattered. 

Instantly regretting what he had done, he spent hours trying to piece the frame back together again, tears slipping down his face as the night turned into morning. Despite his work to fix the frame, there was still a crack over Cameron’s soft, young face. He thought about the night before, standing by the living room window as Cameron hit at the front door. 

“Let me in!” Cameron’s sob rang through his head. “Toby please!” Toby had felt angry and full of despair all at once. He had pressed his hands over his face, listening to Cameron on the other side of the door. One part of him wanted nothing to do with the reckless boy who had always brought nothing but trouble into his life. Another part wanted to throw the door open and pull him into his arms. “Toby!” Cameron had called out one last time. Toby hated the silence that had followed. He watched Cameron descend the cold stairs and walk down the dark street, his hands in his pockets. 

He wondered where he had ended up last night. 

Toby laid back on his bed, his hands spread out on the soft blankets. He slowly turned his head to look at the trunks and suitcases packed up at the foot of his bed. 

_ I had bought a ticket home. I would have been on the ship in the morning. I was saying goodbye to New York. And to Cameron. To Bordie, to everyone, and going home. My heart was broken. I needed rest.  _

Toby sat up. He untied his shoes, setting them neatly down on the old floorboards. He pulled back the blankets and turned off the lamp, laying his head on the soft pillow. He stared at the photo of Cameron on the bedside table. It had been taken in their first year of university here in New York. Cameron was going to send it home to his mother but Toby had managed to convince him to let him have it. 

“You look so gallant. Like those paintings of knights or-” 

“Toby…Stop” Cameron had laughed, his cheeks flushed a bright pink as he pressed his face in embarrassment against Toby’s chest. Toby laughed, his arm around him.

“It deserves a golden frame!” Toby had said, admiring the photograph in his hand of the boy he loved. He had searched through dozens of antique shops in New York before finally finding the perfect gold frame for the photo. Now, Toby sighed, turning his gaze to the ceiling. Tucked under the covers, he closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to find him. 

 

_ I remember feeling so conflicted. Yes, I was heartbroken and felt cheated. I felt ignored and like I had been kicked to the side, just a constant for him to crawl back to when no one else would take him in.  _

_ I also missed him so much.  _

_ It hadn’t always been like this. Mr Fitz turned Cameron into someone I barely recognized. There was a time when I was the only person who caught his eye. Bordie told me that that never changed. Now, with distance, I can see the whole picture with different, clearer eyes. I was a fool to think this openness would ever work. I was tired of feeling scared and having to hide our love. I thought we’d be better and safer if we were open. I was a fool; anxious and paranoid. Now, I don’t care. I love Cameron and he loves me and that’s all there is to it.  _

_ I have read what he has written so far and I can see now that Bordie was right. Cameron was and still is tormented by guilt; guilt over me, over the case and the missing and dead girls, guilt over Mason. However, a lot of the things Cameron has written about don’t make sense to me. I don’t understand what he means when he talks about this ‘gift’ and seeing the dead. I suppose I’ll have to ask him to try to explain it to me. He can’t be serious though, can he? Cameron told me he doesn't believe in ghosts… But I remember him being scared. I remember as kids, finding him standing on the beach staring at something I couldn’t see or a few times when I had slept over at his house, he would wake up suddenly in the middle night and ask me if I saw the man standing in the doorway. I never did.   _

_ Right now as I write this, I can see Cameron through the window, walking down to the beach. The sun will set soon. He’s been doing this since we’ve gotten here on clear days.  _

_ Now he’s unrecognizable for a different reason now that we are out of New York. His boyish joy and liveliness is gone and all that is left is a sad man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He is so sad. He hasn’t talked much since we left New York. Bits and pieces here and there. He’ll sit for hours in silence, staring at things I can’t see. He wanders through the house as if trapped in a maze, peering into rooms but never finding what he is looking for. During dinners, sitting across from him, I try to make conversations and sometimes when I’m lucky, he’ll smile or even laugh a little. Most of the time though, he’s silent and we listen to the crickets outside sing.  _

_ The day he decided to write this all down, for just a moment, I could see Mr Fitz and that youthful spark in his eyes that I love so much. He’s been spending hours in his study, writing like I’ve never seen him write before. Sometimes, I find him crying. Sometimes I find him asleep at his desk, his pen leaving splotches of ink on his page. Once I heard him yell in anger and break his lamp on the desk. He apologized to me repeatedly while I cleaned it up. I told him it was okay. Other times, he is simply sitting at his desk, staring out the window, lost in the past. I think writing this down will bring him peace.  _

_ What happened the night Mason died still haunts me too. Sometimes I find myself placing the blame on my own shoulders. What would have happened if I hadn’t walked away? I would have been with him that night. Could I have fought back and stopped them? Would they have killed me? And sometimes I find myself thinking that it should have been me instead of Mason. I have come to know the band of misfits that Cameron brought together quite well. The night Mason died, a part of us died too.  _

_ As upsetting as it is to recall all of those thoughts and painful memories, if it will bring Cameron peace, I’ll do it. When we left New York, I made a promise that I’d take care of him. I’d hold his hand through the grief and hold him when the nightmares find him. Writing this down is a part of that promise.  _

_ Please, dear readers of New York, be kind to your beloved Mr Fitz. He did nothing wrong.  _

 

The sound of loud knocking on the front door woke Toby. He groaned, angrily throwing the heavy blankets off him. He slipped his feet into his slippers and stalked through the dark out of his bedroom and down the hall. The knocking continued. 

“Toby?” Bordie’s voice muffled voice called from the other side of the door. “Toby! Please open the door! It’s an emergency!” From the top of the stairs, he stared down at the door. Something told him that once he opened that door, there was no going back. Toby gripped the bannister. The memory of the anger he had felt towards Cameron and the strange group around him returned. He could feel his rage bubbling up again in his chest. “Toby!” Bordie called out again. “Please! Cameron needs you!” Toby clenched his jaw. “Please!” Bordie’s voice broke into a sob. “Oh, God…” He could hear her sob on the other side of the door. His anger was washed away by a flood of fear. Toby found himself hurrying down the stairs, his dressing robe fluttering around him. 

He reached the door, quickly unlocking it and pulled it open. Bordie turned to look at him, a look of shock written across her tear-stained face. She was halfway down the stairs. Toby stared at her, a feeling of regret coming over him for not answering the door sooner, for letting her think he didn’t care. 

“W-What’s happened?” Toby managed to ask. Bordie stammered, struggling to find the right words. Toby held his hand out to her. “Come inside, it’s so cold out.” Bordie took his hand and stepped inside. Her hand was shaking. “I’ll make you some tea,” Toby said as he closed the door and started down the hall to the kitchen. Bordie grabbed his arm, stopping him. 

“No… There’s no time for that,” she gasped. 

“What do you mean? Bordie, tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Mason…” she choked out. Toby’s shoulders fell. 

_ I knew. As much as I tried to think of a different event that could have happened, I knew.  _

“H-He’s dead… Someone pushed him off… Off a roof,” she sobbed. Toby pulled her into a hug. He stared at the door behind her, horror and despair overwhelming him. Tears slipped down his cheeks. “T-They think Cameron did it,” Bordie said, stepping away from Toby’s embrace. “The police are looking for him. I can’t find him anywhere. No one can… I think… I think the cult got him.” 

“He doesn’t fit what they look for in victims…” Toby breathed. 

“They were on to him, Toby! Cameron...the last time I saw him, he was so scared. He told me and everyone else to leave him alone. He didn’t want any of us involved anymore in this. And now Mason is dead and Cameron is god knows where and he could be dead too! We have to find him, Toby! Before the police arrest him for something I know he didn’t do or the cultists kill him!” Bordie cried. Toby stared down at the floor. 

“W-Where did… Where did Mason die?” 

“The theatre. There is police all over that building. Cameron and the cultists aren’t there,” Bordie said, her voice wobbling. “I don’t… I don’t know where they could have taken him!” Toby stared down at the floor, still trying to process what Bordie had just told him. He rubbed his eyes. “W-We have to find the others. I know...I know you probably don’t want to see them but we can’t do this alone.” Toby stared down at her. 

“Okay. Okay just let me change and we’ll go,” Toby said. Bordie nodded. Toby turned, quickly heading up the stairs. He reached his bedroom, slowly closing the door behind him. 

Toby broke into sobs, crumpling to the floor. 

 

_ Mason was like a little brother to me. Whenever he and Jay were over at my townhouse, they’d run through the large rooms and up and down the stairs. Sometimes, Cameron and I would join in their silly games of hide and seek and tag. On those rainy afternoons, we were all little kids again, hiding in broom closets and under beds, running up and down the halls, all of us screaming with laughter. They brought life into that big, cold house. _

_ Life without Mason is a lot darker.  _

_ That night I put aside all my anger. It was petty. Both Cameron and I made mistakes.  And now Cameron needed me. He needed me to find him and save him. So I was going to do just that.  _

 

The cab hurried down the narrow road towards the archives. Toby stared out the window, watching the lights of the city pass by. Bordie sniffled beside him. Dressed in a crisp black suit, his black coat pulled tight around him complete with a red scarf, Toby wished the cab would go faster. In his coat pocket was his gun. He had brought it with him from New Zealand and kept it hidden in his bedside drawer. He hadn’t used it since the dual. 

I hoped that I still had a good shot. 

“They were on to Cameron…” Bordie said again. 

“Stop saying ‘were’,” Toby sighed. “He’s alive.” 

“Right… The girl, Abigail, she scared him. I think she was supposed to scare him off the case but it didn’t work. I don’t know what she said to him. I’ve never seen Cameron look so… scared before. It’s like he saw something… Saw a ghost,” Bordie said quietly. Toby’s brow furrowed as he looked over at her. 

“A ghost?” Toby repeated. 

“Toby!” Cameron’s voice had called through the darkness. The little boy sat up in his bed across the room from Cameron, rubbing his eyes. The taller boy was sitting up in bed, his wide eyes locked on the open doorway. Toby could have sworn he had closed it before climbing into bed. Cameron’s eyes glinted in the pale moonlight seeping through the lace curtains. The warm summer wind floated through the open window, playing with the lace. Toby had stared a the little boy. He looked pale and absolutely terrified. He was pointing at the empty doorway. “D-Do you see him?” 

“See who?” the boy whispered. 

“The man in the doorway… Do you see him?” 

“There is no one there, Cameron…” Toby yawned. “Go back to bed…” he said, laying back down. He fell asleep again quickly. In the morning, Cameron had been all smiles as they ran out into the rolling fields of green to play. 

“I don’t know what he saw,” Bordie said, pulling Toby back to the present. “Oh god, I’m so scared, Toby.” She leaned her head against his shoulder, fighting back more sobs. Toby wrapped his arm around her. 

“It’ll be okay… We’ll find everyone and then we’re gonna find Cameron and he’ll be okay… It’ll all be okay,” he said reassuringly as the cab pulled up to the old building. “Wait here,” he told Bordie before getting out of the cab. He hurried up the steps, his coat billowing in the cold air. He pushed open the door, heading into the dimly lit library. “Matt?” He called out. 

“Toby?” the archivist stepped out from the shadows between the shelves, a large book in his hands. Confusion sprawled across his face. “W-What’s going on?” Matt managed to ask. 

“I need your help.” 

“My help?” Matt laughed. “You said you wanted nothing to do with us.” 

“Mason is dead.” 

The book dropped from Matt’s hands. 

The loud thud echoed through the dark library. 

Matt stared at Toby in shock. 

“N-No… No that...That can’t...No…” 

“And Cameron is missing. We have to find him. Bordie thinks…” Toby stopped, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat. “Bordie thinks the cultists got him.” Matt looked up at him, meeting his tear-filled gaze. “We have to find him…” 

“I’ll get my coat,” Matt said, not even bothering to pick up the fallen book in his rush. Toby met him by the front doors. Matt quickly locked the door, his teary eyes hidden under his hat. 

“Toby?” The two turned to see Jay standing at the bottom of the icy steps. 

“J-Jay…” Toby gasped out. 

“I can’t find Mason anywhere…” Jay said, his voice full of worry. 

“I’m so sorry…” Toby said, stepping down to the stairs. 

“Why?” Jay’s voice broke. Toby pulled him into a hug. “Why are you sorry?” Jay asked again. Toby said nothing. Jay started to sob against Toby’s chest. “Toby...Where is he?” Jay sobbed. 

“Jay you should go home,” Toby said, slowly stepping away from the hug. 

“Where is he?” Jay screamed at Toby who flinched. Toby took a deep breath, looking back at Matt who looked just as lost. “I-I want to see him…” 

“Okay…” Toby sighed. “Okay. We gotta find Swagger first,” Toby said, leading the two to the cab. 

“I heard he’s at a bar in the east end. I was looking for you all when I couldn’t find Mason...I was gonna go there next if you weren’t here,” Jay said tearfully. 

“How do you know where he is?” Matt asked as Jay got into the cab. 

“Us newsboys got a kind of system…There is a kid on every street corner,” Jay said. Toby glanced around the dark street before getting into the front seat. Jay gave the address to the driver. Toby told him to drive fast. 

Silence fell over the cab as it drove quickly through the dark streets. 

“How did it happen?” Matt asked softly. 

“Someone pushed him… Off a roof,” Bordie whispered. “Police are already saying Cameron or rather… Mr Fitz did it. I was flirting with this police officer who was out of his uniform at the speakeasy when he got a telegraph. I stole it off him when he was pulling his coat on.” Jay stared down at his old boots, tears slipping down his cheeks. 

“Cameron wouldn’t...He loved Mason…” Toby said quietly, his eyes on the road ahead. “Someone framed him.” 

“The cultists?” Matt asked, his voice cracking. 

“They must have connections with the police…” Bordie breathed. “Cameron was a fucking idiot for taking this case on,” Bordie wrung her gloved hands. 

“He didn't know how big it was going to be. I was with him when he first read that letter. He had no idea. He thought he’d be like any other case,” Jay managed to say. “H-He didn’t know…” 

Silence fell over the cab. 

The streets became narrower, the buildings covered in a layer of soot. The sidewalks were still busy at this time of night, drunken men and women in thin dresses despite the cold. The cab came to a stop out front of the bar which roared with the sounds of cheering men and music. Toby got out of the cab, his hand ready to grab his gun. He heard the passenger door open. Matt had gotten out and was hurrying after him. 

“We should keep together,” Matt said. Toby nodded. They pushed open the heavy door to the bar, stepping into the humid, brightly lit room. On the far side of the room was a makeshift ring. The bar patrons cheered louder. Toby glanced at Matt and started to push through the crowd towards the ring. 

Starting to get frustrated, Toby roughly pushed past the drunken men and reached the edge of the ring. 

“Come on!” Swagger’s taunting voice called through the hot air. He stood in the centre of the ring, his shirt off and suspenders hanging around his thighs. He was sweaty, his nose bleeding badly. His knuckles were bruised. On the other side of the ring was a young man struggling to get to his feet, looking far bloodier than the rum runner. 

“Swagger!” Toby yelled. Swagger turned to look at him, his brows knitting with confusion. 

“The fuck do you want? Not done yelling at us yet?” Swagger snarled. His opponent rushed at him, tackling him to the hard floorboards. Swagger let out a cry of anger, punching hard at the man. 

“Fuck’s sake,” Toby sighed, turning to look back at Matt.

“Swagger!” Matt yelled. The shorter man threw his opponent off, looking up at them with a glare. “We have to go now!” 

“I’m busy!” Swagger yelled back, getting to his feet and punching the man again while he was still down. Blood splattered onto his fist. 

“Cameron needs our help now!” Matt yelled. Swagger glanced back at them. 

“Why?” 

“Mason is dead!” Toby called out. Swagger’s eyes widened. 

“W-What?” Swagger’s hands fell to his sides. He stared at Toby with shock and horror. His opponent suddenly got to his feet, punching Swagger hard. Toby winced as Swagger stumbled back. Swagger let out a cry of anger and kicked his opponent before punching him hard enough to send him falling to the floor. He let out another scream of anger. Toby glanced nervously at Matt as Swagger turned towards Toby, grabbing his collar with a bloody hand. “What fucking happened?” he snarled, gripping Toby’s collar tightly. Toby swallowed nervously.

“Bordie said that someone...Someone pushed him off a roof and framed Cameron. We can’t find Cameron anywhere. We think the cultists got him. We don’t have a lot of time…” Toby said. 

“Then why are you still standing around?” Swagger pushed Toby back, sending him falling into Matt who caught him. Swagger grabbed his shirt and jacket off a stool and lead the way out of the bar. Blood stained his white shirt as he pulled it on. 

 

_ I thought about skipping what came next and getting to the part where we found Cameron but I can’t. If I skipped over it it would be because of selfish reasons. I just don’t want to relive this moment but for Cameron, I have to.  _

_ We went to the theatre.  _

_ We went to see Mason.  _

 

Snow fell softly over the dark street. A crowd had formed. Cameras flashed. Toby’s hand held onto Bordie’s tightly as they walked towards the crowd. Jay broke into a run. Matt hurried after him. Swagger trailed behind, his jaw clenched, his hands curled into fists. Toby reached the crowd as Jay was pushed back by a police officer. 

“It’s off limits, kid,” the officer snapped. 

“He’s his friend! Please!” Bordie protested. The officer glanced up at her and the group of misfits around her, their eyes red with tears. He glanced down at the newsboy who was staring past him, his shoulders trembling. The officer slowly stepped aside.

Jay started to run forward again, his short jacket flapping against his sides, his boots nearly slipping on the ice. Toby closed his eyes as a wail tore itself from Jay’s throat. The newsboy collapsed to his knees beside his friend, his hands shaking violently. They hovered over his bloody face, scared to touch his cold skin. Jay wailed again, wrapping his arm around Mason and pressing his face against his chest. Toby opened his eyes, watching Jay. A sob made his shoulders tremble. Jay sobbed loudly and uncontrollably.

Swagger gently pushed past Toby and started towards Jay. He knelt down beside him, gently rubbing his back. Matt followed Swagger, kneeling on Jay’s other side, doing his best to not look at all the blood. Bordie hurried over to them, leaning against Matt as she knelt beside him. Toby took a step forward, his gaze lifting to the roof several stories up. He slowly moved over to the group huddled around their fallen friend. Slowly, he knelt down beside them. Swagger gave him a small, reassuring smile. He took Toby’s hand, holding onto it tightly as Jay continued to sob. Toby’s grip tightened on Swagger’s hand. Sobs force themselves from his throat. He couldn’t stop them. Bordie held onto his left hand. Matt’s hand rested on his trembling shoulders. 

Snow fell softly around the huddled group of misfits kneeling on the icy, bloody pavement. 

_ In that moment, all was forgiven. Everything I said to them, forgiven. The only thing that mattered was finding Cameron and getting back at those who took Mason away from us.  _

“W-We should go,” Bordie finally said. “Cameron needs us.” 

Slowly, they all stood. Jay reached for Mason’s fallen cap. It was stained with blood. He held onto it tightly, more tears slipping down his face. None of them turned away until Jay did. Jay lead the way away from the bloody sight, Mason’s cap held tightly in his trembling hands. They pushed back through the crowd, finding themselves on the dark street. 

“Where would they take him if he’s not here?” Matt wondered. 

“He doesn’t fit their prefered sacrifice,” Swagger pointed out. “How do we know they are even going to try killing him?” 

Toby felt eyes on his back. 

Slowly he turned to see a man staring at him, his white frizzy hair sticking out from under his cap. He turned and started down one of the alleyways. 

Toby broke into a run after him. 

“Toby?” Matt called after him. “Toby!” Toby ignored his cries. He reached the alleyway, looking around the dark shadows for the man he had just seen. He hurried down the alley, the dim light casting his dark shadow on the snowy pavement behind him. Movement ahead of him caught his eye. Toby pulled his gun from his coat and cocked it as he aimed. 

“Hey!” Toby called out. The man stared at him. “Who are you?” He could hear the footsteps of the others catching up to him. The man held up his hands as he stepped closer to Toby. 

“I just want to help,” he said. 

“Help?” Toby narrowed his eyes. 

“You are looking for Fitz, right?” 

“What's it to you?” Swagger snapped. “Who the fuck are you?” 

“John. Consider me your spy,” the white-haired man said. 

“Spy?” Matt repeated. 

“Why should we trust you?” Swagger snapped. 

“I know where Fitz is,” John said plainly. Toby glanced back at the others. 

“How?” Bordie demanded. John sighed. The rings on his fingers glinted in the dim light. 

“I got one foot in that cult’s door and one foot out. We don’t have time for me to explain and we’re all dead if I’m seen speaking with you,” John said sharply. “Just look for the arrow collared man. That’s where Fitz is.” 

“Arrow collar?” Matt’s brow furrowed. 

“What do you want from us?” Toby asked. 

Just...Just don't hurt Smitty, okay?” John said, his fearful eyes locked onto Toby who stared at him, his brow furrowed with confusion. "I'm out of time. I have to go," John said. He quickly turned away from them, hurrying down the alley. Toby blinked and he was gone, disappearing into the shadows like smoke. 

“Arrow collar man?” Swagger repeated. “The hell does that mean?” 

Jay stared down the alley where John had just been moments ago. His eyes widened. 

“Oh… Where else you kill a man like Mr Fitz…” Jay breathed. 

“Excuse me?” Toby said, staring at Jay with wide eyes. Jay turned to look back at him. 

“Times Square!” Jay cried. “They took him to Times Square! He’s the heart of the city’s best gossip! They are going public and what better way to do that than kill the city’s best gossip columnist in Times Square!” 

“Jesus Christ,” Swagger breathed. Toby didn’t wait for another response. He broke into a run down the alley, giving the others no other choice but to follow. 

_ Jay was right; how poetic it was in a cruel way. Mr Fitz would have been nothing but a statement if we hadn’t saved Cameron. He would have been viewed as guilty for Mason’s death and a warning to others in whatever horrible way they would have displayed him to the city when they were done. It hurts me so much to even think about what would have happened if we had failed.  _

 

“Can this fucking cab not go any faster?” Swagger muttered venomously from the backseat of the cab as it inched its way down to the busy street towards the square. Lights from glittering advertisements flashed. The sidewalks were full of people, all dressed up and looking for the next best bar or dancing hall to go to go. Toby’s knee bounced up and down nervously. They were surrounded by other automobiles, keeping them stuck in the middle of the street. His hands were curled tightly into fists as he looked around for the arrow collared man. 

“Are you sure that ad was here?” Matt asked. 

“It was two days ago!” Jay said, his eyes wide as he leaned over Swagger to peer out the window. 

“What if it’s not? Where else could John have meant?” Bordie wondered. 

“We shouldn’t have trusted that guy,” Swagger spat. “What if he has led us on a wild goose chase?” 

“We don’t know that yet,” Toby said, glancing back at him. 

“It’s starting to look like it,” Swagger sighed. Toby turned back to the front. His gun in his coat pocket felt heavy. He found himself thinking about how he had acted when he caught up to John. He had pulled out his gun without thought and was ready to kill him. 

Perhaps I’m not as good as I like to think I am. 

“There!” Jay suddenly yelled, startling Toby. “Right in the centre!” 

“Let's go,” Swagger said, suddenly pushing open the door. He jumped out of the cab, Jay, Matt and Bordie following close behind. Toby tossed the cabbie a few coins and got out, running after them through the maze of automobiles and other people daring to cross the dangerous road. Toby’s hand reached into his coat pocket as they got closer to the tall building, his fingers curling around his gun. 

“Would they be inside?” Swagger called out. 

“I don’t know…” Toby breathed as he caught up with them. “There must be a backdoor. Come on,” he led the way down the sidewalk, eventually coming to an alleyway. He stopped when he saw a man guarding the door, armed with a shotgun. “Armed guard,” he whispered to the others. 

“Can I borrow your gun?” Swagger asked. Toby nodded, handing it to him. Swagger slowly stepped into the ally. Toby peered around the corner, watching Swagger silently approach the man who suddenly turned his back. He lifted his gun to fire but Swagger kicked it from his grasp. He kicked the man again and hit him hard with Toby’s gun, blood splattering from his nose as he fell to the ground. “Come on!” Swagger yelled at the others. Toby hurried into the ally. Swagger handed him his gun back and picked up the shotgun.     

_ I think in his line of work, that wasn’t the first armoured guard he’s dealt with.  _

Swagger grabbed the bloodied guard’s collar, shaking him roughly. His shotgun pointed at his chest stopped him from struggling. “Where is Fitz?” 

“F-Fitz?” the man gasped. Swagger moved the gun up to his chin, pressing the cold metal against his throat. The man let out a scream. “T-The roof! They took him to the roof!” Swagger dropped him as Toby pushed open the heavy door, hurrying inside the dark building. Swagger gave the man a hard kick to his stomach before hurrying after them. Toby reached the dark staircase, finding a melting red candle on each step. Their flames danced in the air as they ran past them. 

“Down there!” A voice echoed down the dark, winding staircase. A bullet ricocheted off the railing by Toby and struck the wall with a flurry of sparks. 

“Fuck!” Toby cried out. 

“Keep going!” Swagger called out, leaning over the railing to shoot up at the guards. The loud gunshot echoed painfully in Toby’s ears as he kept running up the stairs, adrenaline coursing through his body. As he turned onto the next level of stairs, he was greeted by one of the guards with a hard shove. Toby staggered back, his hands flying out to grab onto the railings to stop his fall. He propelled himself forward, kicking the man hard in the gut as he did so. The man fell back onto the stairs. Toby punched him again, the candles casting his dark, violent shadow onto the wall. He jumped over the guard and kept going up the stairs, leaving him to Swagger to finish off. 

“Go! Go!” Matt yelled at Bordie who tiptoed around the fallen guard. 

“I’m going!” she spat back at Matt. 

The candles flickered. 

Toby turned the corner, starting up the next of stairs. 

A pair of polished shoes on a step ahead of him caught his eye. 

Toby stopped, his hand gripping the railing tightly as he looked up at the tall, translucent figure standing a few steps up from him. The tall boy looked down at him with a look of a horror that Toby had never seen before and never wanted to see again. His white shirt was halfway unbuttoned, his chin and collar stained with blood and pomegranate juice. There was blood in his golden curls. The tips of his fingers were starting to turn blue as if he were freezing. 

What had they done to you, my love? 

“C-Cam?” Toby gasped out as the others caught up to him. They blinked in shock when they saw the transparent figure on the steps. 

Cameron suddenly staggered, as if something had grabbed on to him. 

“H-Help me!” Cameron screamed before he was suddenly thrown back into the darkness. Toby stared at the step where Cameron had just been. 

“Cameron!” Toby suddenly called out into the dark staircase. There was no response. Fear crashed over him. He continued up the stairs as fast his legs could carry him. He reached the door to the roof only to find it locked from the outside. 

“Move,” Swagger said sharply. Toby backed away from the door. Swagger lifted his shotgun and fired, shooting out the lock. The door swung open. 

Toby’s eyes widened with horror as he took in the dark sight on the roof. Tied down to what looked like a makeshift altar, Cameron was staring up at a tall man with wide, terror-filled eyes. 

The man held a long dagger in his hands. 

Toby raised his gun. 

For just a moment, he was back on that hill, the white flowers around him dancing in the salty air. 

Toby pulled the trigger. 

A dark red flower blossomed on the man’s back. 

The dagger dropped him hands, clattering to the cement. 

Cameron heaved for air, his gaze slowly turning to look at Toby. 

Smoke oozed from the barrel of his gun. 

Toby met Cameron’s gaze. 

A feeling of relief washed over him. 

“Don’t stop the ritual!” the man called out as he coughed up blood onto the cement. 

One of the robed cultists lunged for the blade. 

Chaos erupted on the roof. 

Toby ducked out of the way a robed figure lunging for his gun and hit him with his gun. He kicked the figure back as another ran at him. Gunshots crackled across the roof. Screams from below echoed up to them. A police whistle screamed through the cold air. Toby shot at the robed man who fell to the cement, clutching at his leg as he screamed in pain. Another man swung his fist at him. Toby staggered backwards. 

What felt like hands curled around his ankles.

The hands pulled. 

Toby cried out as he fell to the cement, his head hitting the ice. He winced in pain, the roof spinning around him. Slowly, he rolled onto his stomach, pushing himself onto his knees. 

“We welcome you, Leviathan!” a scream echoed across the roof. Toby looked up in time to watch the young man stab the sharp blade into Cameron’s chest. Cameron’s cry of pain echoed through the cold air. Toby grabbed his fallen gun. 

“Cameron!” Once more Toby raised his gun and without thinking, shot the cultist who staggered back, blood seeping from his shoulder. 

_ In that moment, I didn't care who the hell it was that stabbed Cameron. I had to save him. _

The young man fell to the ground on the other side of the altar. Toby scrambled to his feet, sprinting towards Cameron who cried in pain, blood soaking his white shirt. “Cameron… No, no, no,” Toby gasped as he reached the tall boy’s side. He untied the coarse ropes, wincing at the sight of Cameron’s red skin around his wrists from being rubbed raw. He threw the ropes down to the cement as a painful sob tore itself from his chest. “Cameron!” Toby carefully cupped his pale, red stained face in his hands. In Cameron’s tearfilled eyes, was happiness. He slowly reached his shaking hand up to Toby’s cheek, his freezing fingers caressing his cheeks. 

“T-Toby…” Cameron gasped. Toby pressed his hand against Cameron’s fingers on his cheek. 

“It’s okay… You’ll be okay,” Toby said desperately. He turned over his shoulder to look back at the others who stood around the roof in shock. “Fucking help me!” He turned back to Cameron, hearing running footsteps approaching him. Another gunshot crackled across the roof. Matt untied Cameron’s ankles as Bordie and Jay reached them, looking down at Cameron with teary eyes. 

“T-Toby…” Cameron said again, blood oozing between his lips. Toby stared down at him, panic coming over him as Cameron’s eyes started to close. His hand felt limp in Toby’s grasp. 

“Cameron?” Toby gasped. The tall boy didn’t answer. “Cameron!” Toby screamed. “Cameron!” He dropped Cameron’s limp hand, cupping his pale face. “Cameron! Oh God...God! Fuck! Fuck!” Toby wailed. A hand curled around his arm, starting to pull him back. 

“Toby…” 

“No!” Toby screamed at Matt. “Don’t touch me!” 

“Toby!” Swagger suddenly shoved him back. Toby let out another scream, shoving Swagger back against the altar, his grip tight on his collar. Swagger didn’t fight him back. “He's lost a lot of blood. He’s not gone...Just stay back, okay? I know someone who can help him.” Toby stared down at Swagger. 

“Toby...Toby, we don’t have a lot of time,” Bordie said softly, her gloved hand curling around his arm. “Let go of him, Toby.” Slowly, Toby let go of Swagger, stepping back from the altar. “It’ll be okay…” Bordie reassured him. “It’s okay.” 

 

Jay, Swagger and Matt carried him down from that bloody rooftop. Swagger stole a car and we sped out  _ of the city. The whole drive, I held Cameron in my arms, trying to keep all of his blood in his chest. I held my scarf and heavy coat against him, my hands and clothes getting just as stained. We reached an old house out in the middle of nowhere and were greeted by a man that Swagger called Doctor Kugo but he told us he wasn’t really a doctor officially. He patched up all kinds of people who weren’t able to go to a hospital without fear of police or worrying about money. If it weren’t for him, Cameron would have died that night. Kugo said that if we had been any later getting him there, he would have died in that stolen car, in my arms.  _

_ “I’ve saved soldiers, I’ve saved men riddled with gunshots. Don’t worry, Mr Toby. Mr Fitz is in good hands,” I remember Kugo saying to me. I had no choice but to trust him. I remember sitting on the cold floor outside of that makeshift operating room in the old house, watching the shadows under the door. I was still covered in blood. I vaguely remember the others occasionally checking on me. I can’t remember what I said to them if I said anything at all. As the sun rose over the cold city, Kugo said that he had done all he could and that it was up to Cameron and fate now if he would make it. I remember getting up from that cold floor and walking to his room, staring down at his pale face. He was breathing, that was all that mattered. I laid down beside him, my forehead pressed against the side of his head.  _

_ “Please come back to me,” I whispered to him.  _

_ During those few long days, I got to know Swagger and Matt better. Jay even got us playing a game of hide and seek to pass the time in that old, creaking house in the middle of the woods. Bordie kept me sane during those long nights while we sat at Cameron's bedside, quietly talking about the past, the present and the future. She gave me a letter Cameron had written to me the day before Mason died. He never finished it but I understood what he was trying to say. I locked myself in the bathroom and cried while I read it over and over again. To keep some of the privacy we still have after this is published, I won’t tell you what the letter said.  _

_ It was a bright, sunny morning when Cameron woke up, the snow sparkling in the sunlight. I cried I was so happy.  _

_ I suppose my part of this story has come to an end now.  _

_ There is one more thing. I don’t know if I should include it or not. I don’t know how to put it into words.  _

_ As we were leaving that roof, I remember looking back.  _

_ The last man I had shot who Cameron later told me is Smitty or the Milk Murderer, the man John didn't want to get hurt, he had crawled out from behind the altar, his shoulder soaked with blood. He saw me staring at him and he laughed. He looked triumphant.  _

_ He laughed at me.  _

_ Then something I couldn’t see grabbed him and dragged him still laughing back into the shadows.  _

_ I quickly fled the roof after that.  _

_ The sun has set now. I can see Cameron with his lantern coming up the hill now.  _

_ It's time for him to finish his story.  _


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of Part one! I hope to get started on part two soon! Thank you all for the support <3

Waves rolled onto the sparkling sand. Seagulls called out over the water-worn rocks. The smell of salt floated through the air. Beyond the beach, tall grass rippled up and down the rolling hills. White flowers danced in the ocean breeze. 

Cameron stood on the beach, his eyes on the crystal blue waves, watching them roll peacefully onto the sand. 

The warm breeze tugged at his white, blood-stained shirt. 

He stared at the waves, his eyes unblinking.

He felt cold. 

His hands trembled, his jaw wobbled. The blood on his shirt was as red as pomegranate juice. 

“Pretty ain’t it? Too bad we can't stay,” Cameron slowly turned his head look down at Mason who smiled up at him. Mason reached for his cold hand. His skin was even colder to the touch. “ Come on. We’ll go together,” Mason said with a smile.

Without warning, he shoved Cameron back. 

The tall boy started to fall backwards. 

The waves rolled onto the sand. 

Cameron kept falling. 

The beach disappeared into darkness. 

Snow fell around him. 

His chest rose and fell heavily. 

Mason stared over the edge of the roof, watching him fall. 

The white scarf around Cameron’s neck rippled in the cold air. 

He hit the pavement. 

Cameron’s eyes snapped open. He gasped as he started to sit up, heaving for air. Pain quickly overwhelmed him, forcing him to quickly lay back down on the soft pillows. He winced, the pain slowly fading to a dull ache. 

After a moment, he opened his eyes again, looking up at the white ceiling above him; the paint peeling, the floorboards leaking. Cameron frowned. He turned his head, slowly taking in the small room around him. Frost sprawled across the narrow window. On the bedside table were rolls of gauze, bottles of morphine and other painkillers, and a glass of water. Cameron pulled his right hand out from under the thick layer of blankets on top of him and reached for the glass. His hand trembled as he grabbed it, slowly holding it up to his dry lips. Greedily, he drank it all, some of it spilling down his chin. When he was done, he carefully set the empty glass down on the table, laying his head back on the pillows. 

Beside his bed was an empty chair. 

Cameron stared at the chair. 

For just a flicker of a moment, Mason was sitting in that chair; a warm white scarf wrapped around his neck. 

The ghost smiled at Cameron. 

The sound of voices pulled Cameron’s attention away from Mason. He looked up at the door as it opened, the sweet sound of Toby’s laugh floating towards him. Toby turned away from Matt and met Cameron’s tired gaze. Toby’s eyes widened. 

“C-Cam!” Toby hurried across the room, sitting down on the bed beside him. He cupped his face, gently kissing his forehead. Cameron leaned his head into Toby’s hand, his eyes closing. He could feel the sting of tears. “Cam… I-I’m so sorry.” Toby sat back, staring down at the tall boy. 

“For what?” Cameron croaked out. 

“Everything,” Toby gasped. Cameron shook his head, his gaze shifting to Matt, watching him sit down in the chair by the bed. Matt shivered, looking to the window to see if it was open. It was bolted shut. He rubbed his arms as he turned back to Cameron. “How do you feel, Cameron?” Toby asked. 

“Tired,” Cameron whispered.

“Rest now, my love. It’s over,” Toby said softly. Cameron looked up at him. 

_ It wasn’t over. From my blurry memories in that moment, I knew it wasn’t over. I didn’t say anything though. It felt good to lie to ourselves about it.  _

Toby got up, placing another kiss on Cameron’s forehead. “I’ll get you more water,” Toby said. He and Matt headed for the door, their conversation about letting the doctor know he was awake going unheard as Cameron stared at the window. 

Mason drew stars out of the fog on the glass. 

 

_ I have learned that people can be just as haunted as houses.  _

 

The next few days passed in a drug-induced haze intended to keep the pain away. When he was awake, Cameron was distracted by Toby’s soft words and Matt’s books, by Swagger’s laughter, Jay’s stories of newsboys running through the wild streets of New York and Bordie’s gossip. When he was alone, Mason’s presence wandering through the old house in the middle of the snowy woods full of those he loved distracted Cameron from his pain. 

When he was asleep, Cameron would open the door into another world, a world where diamonds were snow and the dead called to him from the shadows. He wanted to answer their calls, wanted to understand but the numbness the drugs induced kept him stuck in the dark, unable to do anything but listen to the screams. Falling to his knees, his hands over his ears, Cameron would scream back, begging them to stop, to leave him alone. He would finally awaken in a cold sweat, heaving for air. Sometimes, Toby would be there to soothe him, other times, he would be alone in his dark room, the screams still ringing in his ears.

It was only in those lonely moments that he would cry. Cry for Mason, for Toby and the others, for Mr Fitz and the life he could never return to. 

 

_ I have learned that people can become ghosts long before they die.  _

 

One cold morning, Toby made the journey back into New York to get his things from his house. He returned with trunks of clothing and a couple other things he couldn’t part with. When he returned to Cameron’s room, snow still clinging to his boots and the shoulders of his jacket, he handed the tall boy a small envelope addressed to Mr Fitz. 

“Someone slipped it under the front door while I was there,” Toby said as he sat down beside Cameron. Hesitantly, he opened the envelope and pulled out the small card inside. 

“Dear Mr Fitz, I would love it if you could join me for tea this Friday. If you cannot show, don’t worry. I understand. Well wishes, Madame Simone,” Cameron read quietly. 

“Are you going to go?” Toby asked, looking nervously between Cameron and the card in his pale fingers. Cameron stared at the neat handwriting. 

“I think I have to…” Cameron whispered. 

 

_ Staring at that card, I knew I had to go see her. I was starting to lose my mind in that bed. I didn’t understand what the hell was happening to me, what I was seeing both awake and while dreaming. If anyone was going to explain to me what was happening, it was her.  _

_ So that Friday, dressed in a new suit and coat with an extra thick fur collar to keep me warm at Toby’s insistence and a new cane so I could walk easier, I went to the little cafe to meet Madame Simone. I kept my hat low over my face and was surprised when I got there to find the entire place empty save for the Madame and her bodyguard of sorts, sitting by the corner, stirring sugar into her tea. There was so much I wanted to say to her but none of the words came out of my mouth. Instead, she spoke first.  _

 

“Please, sit down Mr Fitz,” Madame Simone said with a gentle smile. Cameron glanced hesitantly around the empty cafe before slowly sitting down across from her, setting his hat down in his lap. A waiter silently brought him a small teacup. He looked down into the cup, seeing a flower bud resting on the porcelain. “It’s jasmine,” Madame Simone said, pouring the hot tea into his cup. He watched the jasmine flower slowly bloom in his cup, it’s pink petals glistening in the warm light. Steam floated up from the cup. “I know you didn’t do it. If I thought you did, I wouldn’t have invited you to tea,” she reassured him. “I admit, I didn’t understand what the warning ‘he’s going to fall’ meant until I saw the headlines a week ago. Warnings mean nothing if we do not understand them.” 

“I don’t want to talk about this…” Cameron sighed, looking down at the jasmine flower floating in his tea. 

“I didn’t invite you here to talk about it,” Madame Simone leaned back in her chair, her red curls peeking out from under her black cloche hat, the black feathers pinned to it twitching in the warm air. Cameron took a sip of the hot tea. “Do you like the tea?” she asked. He nodded. “I ordered it for a reason. When you first see the flower, it’s a bud. It is asleep. It’s not aware of the world it inhabits. However, all of the raw materials to make it aware are there. It simply requires a trigger; the hot water. Then it awakens. It blooms into something beautiful. Don’t you think so, Mr Fitz?” Madame Simone smiled as she looked up at him. 

“Please… Just call me Cameron,” he said, his eyes on the flower floating in his teacup. 

“Alright, Cameron,” she said softly. 

“I don’t quite understand what you are trying to say,” Cameron said. “Yes, it is beautiful. But it’s a flower.” 

“It’s you,” she said sharply. Cameron raised his gaze to hers, his brow furrowing. 

“Me?” 

“When I first met you, you were asleep. You saw the world only through the one lens you had always seen it. Ghosts weren’t real and I was a fraud to you. I understand. Seeing the world like that is easy. You experienced things but you brushed them off, explaining them away. Then, after what has happened to you, the explosion, the ritual, Mason’s death, you woke up. Everything you are experiencing now is not new to you, you are now just seeing it clearer, through new eyes. Through three eyes,” she said with a smile. Cameron stared at her. “I could sense it when I first saw you, Cameron. That’s why I picked you to sit at my table. I have met only one other person like you though he woke up years ago. You were still dormant.” 

“I-I don’t understand,” Cameron ran a hand through his curls. “One of the cultists, he said he was like me. He said that each of us had something special we could do. He said he could read me, read my emotions. I think...I think during the ritual, I projected myself to Toby,” Cameron stared down at his tea, feeling lost. "Is that what makes me special?" 

"Perhaps," she glanced down at her teacup. "It is a lot to explain. Think of it this way. There are people like me, mediums. We work to open our third eye. We develop our skills over time but we are limited. We create a window but we never know who we’ll glimpse on the other side. Then there are people like you. You were born with one foot in our world and the other in the world of the dead. You create a door and you can walk through it or let something else walk through it. You are connected with the universe in a way that other humans are not,” she explained. She paused, taking a sip from her tea. Cameron stared down at the flower floating in his teacup. “You have been given a gift, why I don’t know. Perhaps we will never know. However, you can use that gift. You can see them, the spirits, can’t you?” Cameron looked up at her. He nodded. “You can help them. You can help them move on. You can bring peace to-” 

“I don’t want to help anyone!” Cameron suddenly hit the table, making her jump. Tears welled up in his eyes.

_ As much as I knew it was true, I didn't want to believe it. I was and still am terrified of my dreams in that other world, of the screams I keep hearing, even of Mason.  _

“I never wanted this and after hearing what you have to say, I still don’t want it. I want it to stop. I can’t sleep...I can’t bare being awake because they won’t shut up!” Cameron yelled, putting his hands over his ears. He pulled at his hair, tears slipping down his cheeks and falling to the white tablecloth. A cold hand rested comfortingly on his shoulder. “I want it to stop! I want peace!” He let out another sob, his shoulders trembling. Madame Simone leaned forward, taking his hand in her lace-gloved hand. She stood up, leaning over the table to press her forehead against his, her right hand on the back of his neck. 

“It hurts. I know. But this pain cannot be cured. It can only be numbed. You have to understand that, Cameron. The dead are all around us and they do not care about your peace. The dead are selfish. You can block them out but only temporarily. I’m sorry, dear boy,” she said softly, her charcoal lined eyes locked on his. “Instead of hiding away from it, you need to control it. Only then will you have your peace.” 

“Control it? H-How?” 

“I can send you books but ultimately, it comes down to you. You must understand your own ability and what it means to you. You must learn how and when you can open that door and determine who is allowed to come through it,” she said, letting go of him and sitting back down in her chair. “That is how you will fight Leviathan.” 

“Fight Leviathan?” Cameron’s eyes widened. 

“Leviathan has tasted your blood. She won’t stop until she and her cultists won’t stop until they have you,” Madame Simone sighed. Cameron stared at her. His hands trembled. “That is a warning you can understand. You can prepare for it now-” 

“Stop…” Cameron said. She blinked, watching him. “I-I’m sorry… This is… This is insane,” he stammered. "Everything, it's all insane..." He got up quickly, his teacup spilling. The jasmine flower rolled across the white tablecloth as Cameron grabbed his hat and cane, hurrying for the door. 

“You know it’s true, Cameron! That’s why you came here today! You knew it was true and you needed someone to say it aloud! Don’t think that you can run away from this like a coward!” Madame Simone called after him. Cameron whirled around to face, her, his hands curling into fists. 

“I am not a coward,” he snarled. 

“You ran from my table. You are running once more away from my table!” she shot back. Cameron stared at her, his chest rising and falling heavily. His stitches ached. He struggled to keep the exhaustion he felt at bay as he leaned heavily on his cane, the silver handle glinting in the warm light that filled the tea house. “Running away will not stop Leviathan or the cult. It will not stop New York from wanting to see you hanged. It will not bring Mason back! It will-” 

“Don’t talk about him like you know him,” Cameron snapped. A small smile tugged at her red lips. “You have no idea what it’s like. You said it yourself, you aren’t like me. I’m not like other human beings! How can you possibly know everything about me and about what is going with me?” Cameron yelled. Madame Simone reached into her dress pocket and threw an envelope down on the table. Tea from Cameron’s tipped over cup dripped down the white tablecloth to the floor. “What is that?” 

“I told you that I know one other person like you. That person has been keeping an eye on you, Cameron. He’s the reason you’re still alive,” Madame Simone said sharply. Cameron hesitantly walked back to the table. He picked up the envelope. It was addressed to Mr Fitz. Cautiously, he opened it. He recognized the handwriting. 

“Who sent this?” Cameron demanded after reading the letter. Madame Simone stared up at him. 

“This young gentleman is involved with some very dangerous people. For his own safety and yours, it’s best that he doesn’t write it down.” 

“He wrote to me before. He signed it the exact same way…”

“All the flower needs is a trigger…” Madame Simone said, taking a sip of her tea. “I am not saying accept it all today, Cameron. What I am saying is that your world has just become a lot bigger than it was a few weeks ago. Piece by piece, you will come to accept it and control it. Fear is a natural response. This gentleman who wrote to you was scared as well. Now, he’s come to accept it and has control over it. It is possible to live an almost normal life. Can you accept the strangeness of it?” Madame Simone asked, looking up at Cameron who took a deep breath. 

Slowly, he sat back down. 

 

_ Dear Mr Fitz,  _

 

_ Good morning.  _

_ I hope you are well. I want to apologize on behalf of my friend. He can be a bit hostile at times and he forgets himself. That said, I’m not trying to defend him. He nearly killed you.  _

_ I also want to tell you that I understand. Today, Madame Simone will try her best to explain to you what she once explained to me. She helped me. I wish that she could help you too but the circumstances, unfortunately, prevent that. I have a feeling you’ll be leaving New York soon since most of the city wants to see you hung for Mason’s murder.  _

_ Please just know that you are not alone.  _

_ I hope that we can meet face to face one day.  _

 

_ With love,  _

_ Your admirer.  _

 

_ My admirer was right about me leaving New York. A few days later, I was finally able to get in touch with my editor, Ryan. He got me and Toby tickets out of New York. Where to, he didn’t say. He said only to meet him that very night at the docks. That was one of the worst days, saying goodbye to Bordie, Matt, Swagger and Jay. They would be okay. They all agreed that if asked, they didn’t know who Mason was or who I was. I remember fighting back tears as I hugged them all for the last time.  _

_ On the way into the city, I told the cabbie to make a quick stop. Toby was confused until he saw the small townhouse we stopped out front of. I hurried up the steps and knocked on the door, once more thinking of all the things I had to say. But when the door opened and I saw Mason’s mother staring at me, a wall of grief and pain hit and I began to cry. I told her over and over again how sorry I was, that I didn’t do it, that I loved him; stuck on an endless loop like a gramophone. She told me that she knew I didn’t do it, that she knew I loved him. I offered her money, however much it took to cover the cost of the funeral and anything else. She refused it. For almost half an hour, I sat in her kitchen and sobbed in her arms as if I too were her son. As it began to get dark, I managed to pull myself together long enough to say goodbye and return to Toby who waited patiently for me. Once in the cab with Toby's arm around me, I began to cry again.  _

_ I’m so sorry, Mason.  _

 

It was snowing again once the cab reached the harbour. A large passenger steamship was at the docks which were full of people; a flurry of sailors, families saying goodbye, and couples going on vacation. Sailors carried boxes of supplies and bellhops carried luggage. Amid it all was Ryan, dressed in an expensive fur-lined coat and a black suit, his expensive hat atop his head. He smiled at Cameron and Toby as they made their way towards him. Cameron shivered in the cold, his thick collar brushing against his red cheeks. 

“Thank you for doing this, Ryan,” Toby said. 

“It’s no problem. How are you feeling, Cameron?” 

“Cold,” the tall boy muttered. 

“Perhaps this might warm you up,” Ryan said, reaching into his coat pocket. He handed them their tickets. 

“Oh my god,” Toby’s eyes widened. Cameron stared down at the ticket and the ship’s destination written in black typewriter ink. “Oh my god, Ryan,” Toby hugged him excitedly. Cameron felt a smile pull at his lips. 

“Go on, get warm and comfy. I’ve set you up with a place in the city for when you get there. If you need anything, send me a telegraph,” Ryan said with a warm smile. Cameron nodded, stepped towards Ryan to hug him. 

“Thank you for everything,” he said quietly. 

“It’s been a pleasure, Mr Fitz,” Ryan said. “Now go before you miss it. You are late already,” Ryan said. Their things were already being taken aboard by bellhops. Cameron waved to him as he and Toby hurried up the walkway into the warmth of the ship. 

“Come on, let's find our cabin,” Toby said. 

“Wait… I-I… I want to go up,” Cameron managed to say. Toby stared at him for a moment, about to protest about the cold but he thought better of it. He nodded. 

“Okay,” Toby smiled. They walked through the elegant first class lounge and dining hall, up the stairs and out into the cold. The horn sounded as the ship pulled up its anchor. Cameron reached the railing, gripping it tightly. The dark water churned as the ship began to pull away from the dock. Toby stood beside him. They watched the sparkling lights of the roaring city. They watched the snow fall. 

Cameron leaned his head on Toby’s shoulder. 

Toby placed a gentle kiss on Cameron’s head. 

“I don’t want to say goodbye,” Cameron whispered. “It’s not done, Toby.” 

“It’s okay, my love. You’ve done all you can,” Toby said softly, wrapping his arm around Cameron. He rubbed his shoulder gently. 

“It doesn’t feel like enough,” Cameron breathed. 

“New York never deserved you,” Toby murmured. Cameron closed his eyes, breathing in the cold air. 

Slowly, the roaring, sleepless city disappeared into the dark.

On the horizon was home. 

 

_ Now, I am done. I have said all there is to say. I have told you the story of Mason’s death in order to prove my innocence. The cult walks among you all. It is in your police department, your politics, your high society. They are all murderers.  _

_ Please take my warning.  _

_ Arrest them all.  _

_ Soon, I will tie this bundle of pages up and send it off to Ryan who will publish it for you all to read. Yes, I understand how crazy I sound. I have hidden nothing save for one thing from you. I have exposed my whole life to you for the sake of defending myself and my friends. I am not a murderer. I am a writer.  _

_ I still see them; ghosts. I still hear them. When I couldn't take it in the city anymore, Ryan got us a place out in the country. Even out here in the middle of nowhere though, they still find me.  _

_ I still think a lot about Madame Simone and my admirer told me, even more so now as I write this. I remember talking more with Madame Simone that day. She told me that a part of me had already accepted it. She said that I speak of Mason as though he is still alive. That’s because I still see him. His presence is proof of this strange gift.  _

_ Perhaps it’s time I learned how to control it.  _

_ Perhaps it’s time I stopped running.  _

 

Slowly, with a shaking hand, Cameron set the pen down. He stared at the words on the page in front of him. He picked his pen back up. 

 

_ With love,     _

_ Mr Fitz.  _

 

Cameron laid the pen back down. He looked up at the window in front of his desk. Warm morning sunlight spilt through the open window. The warm breeze played with the white curtains. Out on the lawn, sitting in a chair he had dragged out from the dining room, surrounded by white flowers growing among the grass, Toby stared out at the ocean on the horizon as the breeze tugged at the pages of his book in his lap. 

Cameron got up. He walked out of his small study and down the short, narrow hall to the dining room. 

Warm sunlight spilled through every window of the small villa. Books filled the shelves. The bed in the small bedroom was still unmade. Coffee brewed on the stove. 

Outside, it was warm. Birds sang. The faint sound of waves rolling onto the shore reached the little villa. Windchimes danced in the salty air. Toby looked up at Cameron as he set one of the dining room chairs down beside him. Cameron smiled at him. Toby smiled back. 

“Good morning, Toby.”

“Good morning, Cameron.”


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of Part one! I hope to get started on part two soon! Thank you all for the support <3

 

Rain showered down over the dark city. The streets were starting to empty as the storm got worse. Thunder rolled overhead. White streaks of lightning lit up the sky. 

It was the first big storm of the summer. 

Boots pattered down the nearly empty sidewalk. Rain soaked through tweed clothes. Another jolt of lightning flashed overhead. The boy hurried down the sidewalk, his messenger bag bumping against his side. The pins on the strap of his bag glinted in the grey light. 

Another flash of lightning lit up the sky. Thunder rattled windows. 

The archives were two blocks away. He’d go there to wait out the storm. Matt would give him coffee and he could pass the time by wandering among the shelves. He smiled at the warm thought. His pace quickened. Cold rain soaked through his boots. His knee-high socks were soaked through. He shivered. He hadn’t been this cold since the day Toby’s car was pushed into the ocean. He remembered that day clearly, remembering waiting by the side as Cameron dove back down to find Mason. His heart had raced with terror. He remembered feeling so relieved when they came back up the surface and Mason was alright. 

One block away. 

A black car turned the corner, speeding towards the drenched boy. 

Lightning flashed. 

The boy looked back over his shoulder. 

The white light lit up the face of the diver. 

The boy’s eyes widened. 

He broke into a run towards the archives. 

His heart raced. 

His chest rose and fell heavily. 

He reached the front steps, leaping up them. He pounded on the door. 

“Matt!” He screamed. “Matt! Matt! Let me in! Let me in! They are back! Matt please!” he screamed. There was no answer. He looked back over his shoulder as the black car came to a stop out front of the building. The boy threw off his messenger bag, damp newspapers spilling onto the cement as he ran back down the steps. 

“Mr Fitz Tells All,” the headline said in bold, black letters. 

The newsboy sprinted around the building, down the dark, wet ally. Puddles splashed around his boots. There had to be another way in. He turned the corner only to find he had come to a dead end. “Matt!” He screamed up at the tall windows. “Matt!” 

“What’s wrong, kiddo?” a voice laughed. Slowly, he turned. The boy pressed himself against the cold, wet brick. 

“S-Stay away from me,” he said, spitting out rainwater. His black curls sticking out from his cap clung to his forehead. The man laughed. He suddenly lunged towards the boy. 

The boy’s scream was lost in the roar of thunder. 

As the black car drove off, the front door of the old building opened. Matt stepped out onto the front step, looking around with confusion. He looked down at the messenger bag and the mess of newspapers on the front step; the pages getting caught in the wind, the inky words lost to the storm. Pinned to the strap of the bag were a few brightly coloured pins of a Ferris wheel and a giraffe. 

Matt recognized those pins. 

Swagger had bought them for the newsboy at Coney Island. Matt's eyes widened, fear digging her nails into him. 

“Jay?” Matt called out, looking up and down the empty street. Lightning crackled. Thunder rumbled across the city. “Jay!” 

  
  


_**To be Continued....** _


End file.
